Anonymous
This random drawing I did in 2022 came to represent my follicles - symbolic for chances lost over years due to circumstance. It inspired me to put down this inner dialogue and a sentence I should say out loud to all who doubt my grief, that yes it was real, all of it was.
It was real
How can they say it was not real
when preaching since childhood what ‘true’ love will mean
yet always be educated with your own financial security.
How can they say it was not real
while studying miscarriage and risks of late pregnancy
to make a conscious decision for my future to be.
How can they say it was not real
when all that was left was ART at forty -
in the midst of a pandemic’s uncertainty.
How can they say it was not real
with follicles counted and legal files cleared,
all by myself- again waiting - at clinic #3.
How can they say it was not real
when anxiety and grief hit with such brutal honesty,
revealing that this destination called motherhood will never be.
How can they say it was not real
when feelings of cowardice keep haunting me
for not having “done it solo”, as they suggest so very casually.
“Which loss? It just was not meant to be.
Why still be sad and not happy & carefree?”
they comment, while preparing snacks for their family.
Why can’t they see, how real this is to me,
when visions of my children appear so clearly.
They ask me why snowflakes melt on my face,
I feel their sweet touch, while helping to tie their shoe lace.
