When we bought our house, it came with a swing set. We didn’t expect the previous owners to leave it, but I found it kind of charming when I got to the house on closing day. We were, after all, already trying to start a family.
I could picture our kids swinging and sliding a few dozen feet from our back deck.
Now it hurts when I look in our backyard. I want to take a sledgehammer to it and turn it into firewood after what we’ve been through since that day 16 months ago.
We quietly tried another round of IVF in late November/early December and we found out Monday that it didn’t work.
We don’t know why and probably won’t ever know why. It just didn’t take.
We’re heartbroken, though grateful that we didn’t get to the point of seeing another heartbeat. The grief this time is for our dwindling chances, not for a baby we were already getting to know.
I can’t explain how it feels to want so badly to have children and not be able to do so.
For every person telling me it will work out one day, I have at least 15 thoughts of “what if it doesn’t?” and “why should I believe that?”
I used to be an optimist. Maybe I still am somewhere under there, just not right now.