The Ache Remains

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week, which I just learned today. Go figure. Hearing this has made me reflect on my own journey with infertility. I usually don't let myself go there, but I am today. Ironically enough, April is also the month when, 9 years ago, I first learned about my infertility. 

God has brought me so far in these past 9 years. I used to be completely broken, and I can safely say He's done a pretty good job of putting me back together. We have a wooden plaque that my brother brought us from Africa. It says "Jesus is the answer" and it hangs right in our back entrance. This area of the house has alot of traffic and because of that, the plaque has fallen and broken many times. Each time we glue it back together and hang it back up. From a distance, you can't even tell where it cracked, but if you look closely you can see the cracked line running through the middle. This is how I feel. I feel like I am put back together, and that most of the time I (or anyone else) can't tell that I was broken, but there are still the cracks that never used to be there. God has healed me, but I am not who I once was.

My desire to be a mother is gone. It has been satisfied in my sweet, bubbly, energetic 3 year old. I no longer have to look at other mothers in the park and wish that I had my own child to play with. I am beyond thankful for this. Adoption has fulfilled my desire to be a mother. Yet there is one thing adoption hasn't and will never fill. The ache to carry a child. 

For me personally, I know that (barring a miracle, which I fully believe God could do if He wanted) I will never carry a child inside me. Normally I don't feel the ache. It used to be constant and so intense that I thought I would die. Now most days I carry on and don't even think about it. The ache usually only manifests itself if I see a pregnant woman walking down the street, or hear of a friend announcing her pregnancy. I usually, when that happens, push it down as fast as I can before it hits me too hard. Like I said earlier, today I'm letting myself go there and there is a reason why I don't usually do that. Because the ache is still there and if I let it, it can still be just as painful and intense as it was 9 years ago. And I know that the ache will always be there. It's never going to go away. Oh, how I want it to go away. 

I have come to a place of understanding regarding my infertility. I have seen how it was part of God's plan for my life. I have seen how it has opened doors for me to encourage and walk alongside other women struggling with the same thing. It has meaning and purpose in my life and for that I am grateful. I wouldn't be Cassidy's mother if I wasn't infertile and that makes me want to cry more then anything else that I can think of. I would choose her over any biological child I could have. But all of this doesn't mean that I still don't struggle. Maybe when I'm 50 and past the childbearing age I finally won't wish to carry a child inside of me. I can only hope. For now, though, the ache remains.

If you know someone who is walking the lonely road of infertility, would you come alongside them? They desperately need encouragement, hope and love. Pray for them, and tell them you're praying for them. Share a verse with them. Take them out for coffee. I felt alone when I first began the journey of infertility and no one should ever have to feel like that. You can do more then you think you can. It doesn't take much, just a little bit of love.