The continuous presence of absence

So I am trying to cope with the idea that my quest to have a child is over. I *did* speak to my husband, and have come to a better place in our marriage. And I also learned a little more about what was really in his heart. This brought me great peace and the ability to forgive. I realized that I needed to forgive him, as much or more for me, than for our marriage. I need him in my life. He is my anchor in life, my guiding star. Despite all he has done, I consider myself damn lucky to have him as my life's partner.

But really, in the grand scheme of things, it changes little. He still does not want to try anymore and I must deal with that decision. Not just agree to it, but *accept* it.

I don't know how to do that.

I was thinking earlier today when I commented about adoption to someone else's blog. Wanting another child is like deciding to adopt. When you're ready for adoption, you just know. You can't explain why it's right for you or even why you decided to go that route. With my daughter, I just instantly knew in what seemed like a moment (while were were knee deep in our second round of fertility treatments). It was like a switch went off for me. It was just something I felt was right, meant to be even.

That's how I feel about having another child. I *just know* it's meant to be, that's it right. But life does not work that way. God does not always answer prayers in the way we want Him to. While it's right for me, my husband doesn't agree, and so I must get on with things.

I don't know how to do that. And I don't want to do that. But the choice is not mine.

So I started poking around the internet. I am certain I am not alone in this predicament I find myself in. Most searches were unhelpful as failure to conceive topics almost always led to adoption. That's not in the cards for us, nor do I want it again.

But then I stumbled on this, and I wanted to shout "Yes!" Someone finally put into words what I was feeling. From the Yeah, write! blog:

I learned that infertility can be grouped in with miscarraige and even the loss birthmoms feel in something called "disenfranchised grief" or "ambiguous loss" or "the continuous presence of an absence." That last phrase was from Anna Quindlen, and it's the perfect description. You're not mourning for a loved one you had grown to love over years and years. You're mourning the loss of the dream you had of someone. And it's still real grief, although it's not publicly acknowledged or widely understood.

So I am not alone. Or crazy. It's real grief, even if no one understands it. But what's scary is that word "continuous." Already when I look at my children I feel like someone is missing. Will I always feel this? Will I ever just get over this? It's going to be an uphill battle, because at the root of everything is, I don't want to get over it. I want my way, I want my dream.

I recently wrote about life being full of dreams for a wedding toast I will give next week. It was bittersweet because I remember that time of innocence in my life, when I believed all you wanted in life was possible, I believed in dreams. I didn't know then how life was sometimes unfair.

But nobody said life was fair, did they?