She placed her hand gently over mine and sighed. I had no idea what was coming next but was certain it was bad news. I braced myself and looked to her for the words she was having such a hard time getting out. What could be so difficult?
Taking a drink from her water she paused to look at me with sympathy.
Her jaw clenched and she sat back waiting for what?
An explosion of tears, an emotional breakdown, a fit of rage?
My heart wasn’t mended from my loss(es) and never would be but I could feel joy for someone else.
And I did.
I was so happy for my friend, who would be experiencing the amazing feelings of pregnancy, the kicks and rolls of a baby, the overwhelming love you feel when they put that baby in your arms.
I wanted her to have that.
I wanted her to see her tiny miracle squirming on-screen, smile as she picked out baby clothes for the first time, and lay with her hand on her belly wondering what this mixture of her and her husband might look like.
My losses don’t mean I wish anyone else the same or that I don’t want anyone else to be happy.
Exactly the opposite.
I’m so happy that couples are successful, that babies are born, that families are growing.
Yeah, it stings. It hurts that my family didn’t grow the way that I had originally planned it to but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel over the moon for someone else.
This is my heartache.
And maybe the more I fill it with happiness and joy the less it will ache.