My husband wants to help fix the pain. He thinks getting a vasectomy will make the hope go away. It won’t.
Hope is such a tricky thing. Hope has played a significant role in my life. My father was a heavy drinker. I always hoped he would stop. He miraculously did several years ago. I always hoped people would read and enjoy my writing, and that’s coming true.
My rational and emotional minds understand we are no longer actively trying to have another baby. But my husband is right; I’m hoping some major miracle may happen this summer. I can’t turn it off. I wish I knew how.
I started sifting through my daughter’s infant clothes. My intention was to wash them and find a charity in Joplin, Missouri to send them to. I wanted to help anyone who lost everything and needed baby clothes. This distinct belief lasted until I took her clothes from the dryer and began folding them. I wasn’t ready to let go of her tiny onesies, cute little dresses and footie pajamas. Instead I put them in a Space Bag and laid them on top of her other baby clothes I have stored. I wish I could let them go, maybe next week. Maybe one day soon.
What does hope look like for you?