Her words were a sledge hammer to my future. “It is unlikely that you will ever conceive.” The doctor patted me on the shoulder awkwardly. Just like that, the future I had assumed and imagined ended in an explosion of grief. Raining down on me for the next decade were shards of dreams, double-edged fissures…
Waiting
Still Waiting
In Lucy Maud Montgomery’s book, “Anne of Green Gables,” Anne Shirley bemoans her task of constant care for small children with the confession that “twins seem to be my lot in life.” That phrase has bubbled up to the surface of memories throughout my adult life because for me, waiting seems to be my lot…
How to Thaw a Cold Heart
We call it the “February Funks” in our house. Lagging between holidays, this short month feels long and cold. Spring is tantalizingly close, but we’re constricted by the temperatures that still keep us inside. The lack of activity and sunlight, the draggy feelings that often come after major holiday seasons—these can make us feel despondent…
A Mighty Strong Thread
I see you sitting on the edge of your seat, shoulders slumped and a furrowed brow. Defeated doesn’t begin to describe the gravitational pull on your heart. Despair sinks down deep, opening up and pulsing through your veins and arteries, permeating every cell with a heavy ache. It’s a long-winded ache, one that’s been flowing…
The Weary Work of Waiting
I asked what’s hard right now. And you said a lot of things. A lot of hard things. One common thread, a blue one soaked in grief and tears and worry, was about waiting. Waiting to be married, waiting to have children, waiting for a diagnosis, waiting on work, waiting for the right words to…
I follow close to You
I’ve been feeling a bit empty lately. A steady stream of writing and pouring out has left me scratching my head and staring at intimidatingly blank pages in all my journals and notebooks. Sometimes the words don’t come, no matter how hard I press down the pen. So I go back to what fills me…
To the Brink: a Tribute to Parents
The first eight months of our youngest son’s life epitomized uncertainty to me. I rocked a baby against my chest every night, a solid fragile weight pressed next to my heart, not knowing if I would ever be able to call him “son.” It was the riskiest version of love I’d ever known. As every adoptive parent…