I’ve probably written this here before, but I expected life to be easier. I remember complaining to Greg last summer about how I thought something really good would have happened to us by then.
“If you think something is going to happen to make up for Genevieve’s death, it’s not,” Greg said.
Obviously nothing could make up for our loss, but I thought that life would even out somehow. We would quickly have a red-faced, wailing third baby. I would find an amazing job. At the very least, the neighbors with the pack of noisy, menacing dogs would move out.
None of these events came to pass. And I was surprised. Hadn’t I earned it? I had survived one of the worst things that a person can survive. Goodness and plenty should have rained from the sky onto my front lawn.
This past year has taught me that sometimes life is unfair. Then, it just continues to be unfair. I truly did expect that good things would happen just because I was due for some good luck. And something good did happen — my Motherlode piece. That didn’t drop from the sky though. It came after much pacing and rewriting and lying awake in the middle of the night. It came from hard work.
I can see now, finally, that a baby must come from that same place. I need to quit asking “Why me?” and waiting for my luck to change. I will never understand why this drought settled over our home. Understanding would not change the outcome. Better to stop pondering and plunge forward with the hard work that will actually bring a baby — a fought for, willed-into-life baby — to our home.