Dark Moments: Raging at God

I started this a few nights ago.  I have hesitated in posting it because it is so raw, and filled with so much anger.  It was written very impulsively, with a lot of emotion, and I don't normally post when I write that way.  If I do post it, it will be because maybe there is another woman out there struggling with similar issues, and maybe she needs to hear she isn't alone.  If I post it, it is not for sympathy or pity, or "dear dear"'s and pats on the hand. I just need to get this out of my head. My head is killing me from crying so much, I had a breakdown in church yesterday, I can't sleep and I don't want to eat. I can feel the grief and depression closing in around me.  Oh, and in case I didn't get the message that my body is betraying me (again), I started my period and have the cramps from hell.  I am trying to concentrate on the positive, on the things I do have: two great kids, a husband who loves me and is going through this same hell, terrific friends who support me, and somewhere in all of this, my Father who really knows what's what.  I won't lie, though: I want to curl up in bed and just sleep.  This is hard.

Anyway, here it is:

I should be asleep, but I haven't slept in three nights now.  It's 2 am on the fourth night, and I realized if I don't get this out of my head, I will toss and turn with this again and again until I do.

Almost two--gulp--years ago, a friend of mine had a little boy.  I have truly delighted in watching him grow from sweet little infant, to a sweetly 'rotten' toddler.  Even when he's emptying the recycling bin for the umpteenth time, he's adorable.  He's a fun little boy, and my friend has willingly shared him with me, for which I'm grateful.  His smile is a heart-melter, and when she tells me about his latest antics, I am quick to say, "Oh, not my little Mighty Might!"  Last spring, J and I met up with our littles for ice cream.  I remember it still so vividly, more because of what she said, than anything.  As usual, I quickly liberated him from his stroller, and we rocked.  He was sick, and he was exhausted after keeping my friend up all night, so he quickly fell asleep against me.  I can still remember the weight of his head on my shoulder, his little hand on my back.  I closed my eyes, and smiled, reminiscing about my own boys at that age, just soaking up the moment.  Then my friend said--"You're not finished."  I knew what she was referring to.  We had discussed it a few times before, but I was on the fence about another baby.  Sure, it would be nice, buuuuutttt.....  In that moment, I realized she was right.  I didn't feel finished.  My family was not yet complete.

Shawn and I tossed the idea around for quite a while. It wasn't something we hadn't discussed before, and while we hadn't closed the door, we were tentative.  So many factors to consider.  In the end, we realized we don't want to live with the regret of not having another child.  We don't want to miss out, we want this chance.  Our family does not feel complete.  We've made informed decisions, talked with my doctors, and I went off all dangerous meds.  So, little known fact, we've been trying to conceive since December.  We have allowed ourselves to be excited (and simultaneously terrified!), to hope, dream and wonder about this child.  Will she be an Erica or an Amelia, or, will he be a Thomas or a William?  We even came up with a cute way of announcing the pregnancy, using a play on our left field life.  We've reminisced about Noah's and Avery's pregnancies, births and infancies, talked about what we'll do differently this time, laughed about our inexperienced moments with Noah, and marveled at how far we've come. Knowing how long it took for Avery, and knowing things aren't perfect with my reproductive history and overall health, I'm not sure we've been surprised with each negative test.  Disappointed for sure, but maybe not really surprised, even though we've remained hopeful.

This week, we were dealt a crushing blow,  the answer for all the minus signs.  I saw my doctor, a specialist who is treating my body as a whole, rather than separate specialists for each organ system, and she said conception would be nothing short of a miracle.  My body just works too much against itself.  Even if I could conceive, I would be an even higher risk than I was with Avery, and another miscarriage would be a tremendous possibility.  Because of the autoimmunes and other factors, this is not something fertility drugs would solve.  I'm devastated.  This is not what we wanted to hear.

Now, we've been down this road before.  That sort of declaration is just so--final.  You can literally hear the door slamming shut.  I accepted it at first, years ago.  Then I realized--I didn't like it, and I raged against it.  I raged at God. Why?  What did I do to deserve this?  What did Shawn and I do so wrong that we deserve this?  I cried every time I saw babies and pregnant women, and when I learned of my sister's fifth child (because ruining the lives of her first four kids wasn't enough) around the time of my miscarriage (which only confirmed what my doctors told us), it was the last straw.  I emptied the house of anything baby-related.  I did not want any reminders of what my body refused to do that others were able to do so easily and without thought.  I am back at that point.  And, while I feel I am at a different, better place in my relationship with God than I was last time, meaning I know all the rational, Christ-centered answers, my reaction--anger--is still the same.  I am not ready to happy-go-luckily skip away from it, saying "Okay then, that's that!"   I am not able to look at it from the what-if-God-is-protecting-us perspective; I can't imagine such a scenario that would make me think "It's a good thing we didn't have that child," or worse, "I wish we hadn't had this one."  I know He is in this, and I'm not running from Him as I did last time, instead I'm running to Him, I know His hand in this, even though I can't see it.  I know I need to continue to praise Him through this.  I'm not even sure my anger is directed necessarily at God this time, I just want to know WHY.  I want to know if this is just a temporary setback, or is this forever?  I know He knows things we are not yet privy to, but I don't understand this.  What lesson does this serve?  Why would He give us this desire, this love for a child who does not yet exist, if not to give life to that child?  I cherish my boys, I love them, I am fiercely protective of them.  And they are my proof God exists.  They make me absolutely nuts, but I can't imagine life any other way.  There are people who abuse, neglect, sell and even murder their children--and they go on to have more.  Why?  Why are they allowed to have more children, but Shawn and I--with the love, the means, the ability, the knowledge--we are being told it's an impossibility?  We will love any child we are given, we know the possibilities we face due to genetics and heredity, but we are willing to take those chances because we want another child to love.  On some desperate level, I feel like I'm being punished, and I don't know why.  I'm raging, I'm angry, and I'm demanding answers from God.  I want to know WHY.  Why do seemingly undeserving people who don't want the children they have, have more?  Addicts, alcoholics, criminals, one night stands, teenagers, people who don't even want children--why is it so easy for them?   I know I am far from the perfect mom, but I love and cherish my children.  I have no doubt that another child would make me just as nuts as the two I have now, but just as Noah and Avery are, that child is wanted and already loved.  We know it wouldn't be perfect, but Shawn and I want this chance.

After my appointment, Shawn and I took the kids to a museum, and I mentioned it to him in passing--public place, no chance for in depth discussion.  I dropped the bomb and kept walking, after looking at an infant sleeping peacefully in his carrier and wanting to burst into tears.  I know how unfair that was of me, and I know how unfair it is of me that I don't want to talk about it with him.  I know he needs to talk about it and process it also, but I've shut him out.  It's a whole new grief process for both of us, again.  He came up behind me to hug me today, resting his hand on my belly like he did when I was pregnant, and I smacked his hand away, ducking his hug. My husband could've been praying, maybe he just needed as much reassurance as I do right now, maybe he didn't even realize where his hand was and it was just a casual thing because he just wanted to hug me--and I rejected him.  I turn inwardly in moments like this, refusing comfort, then lash out at those around me.  I don't want comfort, I want answers.  If I can focus on the anger, then I don't have to give attention to the devastation.  And if I don't give attention to the devastation beneath the anger, there's no chance of a complete breakdown in the grocery store, or at church, or when I'm taking Avery to preschool.  If I don't give attention to the devastation, I'm not vulnerable.  It is a dark time for me, being angry not just at God, but at my body, which has once again betrayed me.  I'm angry at the people it's so easy for, the ones who declare "This will be the year of the baby!" and they're seemingly immediately pregnant.  I'm angry at those with children who take them for granted, neglect and abuse them, and even those who may actually love their children, but ignore them rather than raising them and putting time into them.  I am a five year old, stomping her feet, shaking her fist, and screaming "IT'S NOT FAIR!"

Knowing she would understand, I texted Mr Mighty Might's mom with the latest declaration that evening, telling her I didn't want to talk about it, but there it is.  This was her reminder: "Oh sweetie.  That is why we serve a God of BIG miracles.  All the experts in the world have no idea the plans God has for you.  But at the same time, we have to be willing to accept His plans no matter what they may be."

A good reminder, and as always, she spoke life, love, hope, and our reality as Believers.  No judgement, no "maybe this is for the best," no pat-on-the-hand-it-will-be-okay 'reassurances.' As I said earlier, Noah and Avery are my proof God exists; because of them, I know nothing is impossible for God.  They are my proof He is still performing miracles, and that many times, modern medicine has no clue what it's talking about.  I know how lucky--blessed--I am to have them.  I wonder if Shawn and I have used up our share of miracles, but I am not feeling selfless enough to agree we've had ours, and it's someone else's turn.  I'm sure there are childless couples who would tell me I'm being selfish and greedy--and maybe I am--but I am not ready to give up.  I am not willing to accept this declaration that this is it.  As I'm sure God has come to expect of me by now, I am not finished demanding answers of God, and I am not willing to accept that this could be His plan for us.