When one door closes…

Have you ever wondered why things happen to us at certain times in our lives?  I often wonder if that old adage “When one door closes, another will open” is true or not. 

 

From the time I was a very little girl, I can remember playing with my dolls and everything just clicking inside as if holding Talking Baby Tender Love or Drowsy was the perfect thing for me.  Later, when I was growing up, if there were a baby in the room, I was the girl always at its’ side.  I was the girl asking my aunts if she could hold it, feed it or rock it to sleep.  So many times I can remember feeling out of place at family parties, but as soon as I would get hold of one of the babies (and we always had a steady stream of them), then I would be at peace.  Even as an adult, and for as much as I love my husband, I can honestly say that I wanted to be a Mommy much more than I ever wanted to be a wife.  I wanted to feel the baby grow and move inside me.  I wanted to breastfeed and have that wonderful time of bonding.  I wanted to teach the child all the silly things that kids need to know.  That’s why I was so dumbfounded that day, almost two years ago, that I found out that not only did I have uterine cancer, but that my hopes and dreams of having my own child had been crushed to smithereens.  It is impossible, even with a dictionary and a thesaurus at my side, to ever describe the despair that a woman feels when she finds out that the one amazing gift that she is given just for being a woman – to bear a child – has been taken away from her.  I felt an enormous emptiness that I do not think will ever fully be filled.  I felt less feminine… and alone… and abandoned… and broken.  The months that ensued were filled with operations, chemo and radiation.  I had to focus on all of that in order to get my body healthy again.  When I realized those obstacles had been lifted, I should’ve felt joyous.  However, I still hadn’t truly mourned the loss of the babies I would never have.  It was at that time that the real despair took over.  I could feel myself sinking deeper and deeper.  Outwardly, I did my best to make everyone think I was ok.  However, inside, and whenever I was alone, I cried for hours on end.  I couldn’t function or go about my daily chores.  Just sitting here, now, thinking about all that pain, still makes me cry.  Eventually, I sought help in the form of a social worker at the hospital (and some Zoloft, which I’m still taking).  Together, I think they might be working.

 

Little by little over the last few months, I’ve begun to see things in a more clear light.  I can laugh and smile again at the simple things around me, which makes me feel more like the “old” me.  I don’t think I’ll ever feel the same as I used to, and that’s ok.  These days I finally feel as if there might a reason behind what happened.  I still haven’t figured out what that reason is, but since that one HUGE door in my life has closed, I know that for my own peace of mind that I will keep searching to find the other door – the one that has opened.