Take these broken wings and learn to fly…

photo from art.com

Her name would have been Orchid.  And for him we would have called Little Lion.  Do we continue trying?  Or is it foolish to not heed the universe’s warnings that our tiny family of four is perfect the way it is?  I can see my husband love another child.  I can almost feel her/him in my arms.  Our two boys are such pieces of heaven that it seems wasteful *not* to have another child.  So we tried and tried again.  But after 3 miscarriages… perhaps it’s time to stop.  What if we were successful next time but the baby turns out to need more than we can give?  Financially, emotionally, mentally… what if what we have won’t be enough?  I can not willingly choose to detonate our children’s lives.  They deserve our attention, love, care, and protection and would not have asked to have a baby sister or brother who is sick and would take away from all that.  And yet I know how wonderful they would be as older brothers.  They are already wonderful to each other–more than we have ever dared to hope that they would be.  If only we could know beforehand, just a small peek into the future to see which way to go… to be sure of the path we choose so that we can firmly follow it.  My husband says we must not be greedy, that we are the only two people in this world who would take care of our two little boys.  They have no one but us.  So to bring in another child and jeopardize an already unsteady state of living seems so very rash.  And yet… and still… my heart aches and I wonder and I dream and I cry when I lose the pregnancy… again. It’s moments like these that resonate how truly precious the happiness we have really is; how very tenuous and fragile.  No matter what happens… Happiness, I promise to cup you in my hands and shield you from the wind so that you don’t blow away so that I can hold on just a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer.

photo by Paul Mutton from photos.jibble.org


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