by Patty Rice Shuler
Like may women, I have dreamt of having a family. I have dreamt of being a mother. I suppose most young girls have that dream. More than a wish, it was a dream of a future reality that would come true in its own time. In the “fulness of time”.
For many years I blamed my ex-husband for the death of that dream. I believed he had “stolen” ten years of my life. The best ten years, the potentially most fulfilling ten years. I allowed anger and hurt to blur my vision. I allowed shame to replace the dream.
I did get pregnant once. I knew it almost immediately and it was confirmed at the doctor’s office. Such a sterile place for one to receive news of expecting the birth of a child. Interrupted by the question, “Are you going to keep it?” As if “it” was a thing of no importance, of no consequence. But that was my dream being called an “it”. Of course I would keep “it”. Even after he (the husband, not the doctor) told me I should abort, I stubbornly said “no”. I wanted that child. In the midst of going through a divorce, I thought “Maybe something good can come from this marriage after all.” I thought maybe the “family” part of the dream could survive somehow. Maybe somehow the new life growing inside me could bring new life to my soul.
I tried. I took vitamins and drank milk. I ate what I thought was a balanced diet. I prayed for that child. I dreamt of twins, a boy and a girl. Like my mother and her twin brother. I gave each of them names: Kelly Patricia and Christopher Edward.
The dream only lasted six weeks. I was at my cousin’s wedding when I lost the baby.
I blamed myself. Who else could I blame? It was my body that had rejected this new life.
I just knew that somehow, subconsciously I had “killed” my dream, my child, my future, my hope.
Time has not helped. Almost 39 years later, the tears still flow when I allow myself to open that wound.
Our society, perhaps, is getting better at facing death. Still, the death of a child, of a marriage, of a career…the death of a dream is just too personal, too private. Too painful for polite conversation. This is not share-able. And so, only God knows. Only God knows the depth of the pain. Only God knows the answer to “why?”
I finally stopped asking “Why?” I finally “moved on” with life. The surprise has been in the acceptance, the return of trust in God, the return of joy, and the birth of new dreams.
Psalm 30:11 has been helpful and hope-full: “You have turned my mourning into dancing; you have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.”
Gracious and loving God, you alone know our deepest wounds. You alone know our personal stories. And you alone bring healing. Thank you for the life experiences that help along the way. Thank you for the relationships that allow trust and joy to return after time.
Thank you for the lesson from a very old tree in Richmond, Virginia. There, in the former capitol of the Confederacy, the scars from the burns are still very evident on each branch of the tree. Yet, in the midst of the deepest scar was a new branch. New life! New hope! New dreams! Amen.
