The Impossible

For the past several years, I've driven by the Destination Maternity store along the highway that takes me to and from work each day and thought, "I can't wait to walk in there and buy a cute maternity outfit for myself."  Through time it became more painful to drive by that store, yet I still kept that hope of buying that one overpriced maternity outfit for when my time came.

Well, Thursday's drive by caused a small break in the dam.  A chink appeared in my armor.  I literally looked over to see the store that's awaited me all this time . . . and began sobbing.  It only lasted a minute or so but it finally hit me with a finality that I've never quite felt until now.  I will NEVER be pregnant.  I will NEVER have a baby bump.  I will NEVER wear maternity clothes.  I will NEVER carry a baby.  I will NEVER feel a baby kick inside of me.  Nor will I have to announce to DH that I've gone into labor nor deliver a baby nor see the look on DH's face when our baby comes out of my body - not any of it.  It will be completely and totally impossible after Tuesday morning.  There is no miracle to be had.

(::insert the true insanity of this::  I know it wasn't possible for any of that to happen anyway, but as a female you always hang on to some strange, idiotic thread of hope that miracle might somehow come your way.)

I'm still crying some tears about that fact.  Call it hormones, exhaustion, stress, fear or a combination of it all (which it is), but I think I'm experiencing that final stage of grief.  I'm going through it and feeling it because I know it needs to happen.  I've learned on this path that it makes it worse for me to stuff all of the feelings until I explode.  Man, it feels weird.  I've been fighting this battle for what feels like so long.

That battle has ended.  It's finished.  It is truly over, even though I didn't get to win.  And I hate losing.