Six years ago, I wrote this blog.
And, from that, this.
Sweet Seraphina…how I desperately prayed that God would show me your face somehow. “Please,” I asked…give me a dream, a vision, a picture!”
And then I moved on.
I’m pretty good at moving on. Mostly because there is a deeply rooted hope that drives me ahead. But still, there are days like today….
Days where the memory of what could have been teases.
I am ok with that.
But years and years later, as a woman, I cannot help but feel less than.
Less than, that my body couldn’t sustain a pregnancy (and pregnancies thereafter).
Less than, that my body’s cycles have betrayed me on a consistent basis.
Less than, that I simply cannot do part of what defines my womanhood.
Less than, that most days, I do not even want what I cannot have.
Less than, that the grief of others is greater than mine.
Deep inside, I know I am not less than. I know that my femininity is not defined by what my body cannot do or by my body, for that matter. I know this; I believe this, and I live with joy and hope and peace and blessings and wonder and pain and loss like every single person in this first world country- privileged I am.
But I do grieve.
And, I am ok with that, too.
“…… but joy comes in the morning,”