Avoiding Mourning Fog

It's amazing how I went through life in such a tremendous fog when I was mourning the children I couldn't have.

I missed a lot of things.

I was very numb to a lot of what was happening in my world.

Sometimes I look at my seven year old now, and I just cannot believe how old he is.  I can't fathom how he got so big.  I know it happened gradually--day by day, month by month.  It makes me sad to think about how sometimes I was so deep in my own mourning--my desire for more children--that I didn't pay close enough attention to what I had.

I know I can't go back; I can only do what I can with today.  However, thinking back to that time of darkness...that hopelessness...those years of grieving, I wish I could have forced myself to notice the present a little more.  I wish I would have accepted each day--painful as it was--as a true gift from God.  I wish I would have tried a little harder to cut through my obsession with having more children.

I definitely wouldn't change how dependent I became on God or how much more intimate my relationship was with Him.  The spiritual fruits of grief are the most amazing outcomes.

The point of this post is that if I find myself struggling with secondary sub/infertility again (or other circumstances of grief, pain, or even just uneasiness) in the future, I hope I can remember these realizations and put them into practice.  I know it will be difficult, but I hope I will attempt to cherish each day I have, because I don't want to repeat those mistakes.  I don't want a fog of mourning to consume my life.

Dear God, help me to always recognize that even in the midst of great suffering, you have given me tremendous gifts:  my life and the people who are in it.  Help me to avoid envy and presumption.  They are most definitely sins that magnify pain and deaden us to the world.  Lord, please don't allow me to skate through my life, wishing away difficult moments or days.  Help me to notice the goodness a little more.

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Related posts:
The Discipline of Contentment
Does It Really Matter?

It Never Completely Goes Away, Does It?

Something I have noticed even amidst abundant joy with my current family situation is a very small footprint...or etching of sadness.  It isn't always very noticeable.  I am not depressed or anything.  Perhaps since puberty I have been a little on the morose side at times.  Maybe it's just part of the human condition.  However, I really think it is related to my past struggles with sub/infertility.

It could just be that I need to break some bad habits in the way I think and react.  Why is it that I still feel a pin prick of sadness and envy when I find out someone is expecting?  

At other times, the difference in age between my two sons, although convenient at times, can be a painful reminder.  Or...I may see a larger family and wonder if sub/infertility will continue to be a part of our story as we possibly attempt to conceive again.

Don't get me wrong, I am so very happy with the blessings I have.  The majority of the time, I do not think about these things.  I am attempting to live in the moment and not get ahead of myself.  I know God is taking care of me, and I try to abandon these anxieties into His hands.

I am not sure what I expected, but I guess it makes sense that the pain is always with you somewhat.  I have heard before that even after "overcoming" infertility, the effects remain.  I think it may have been This Cross I Embrace who mentioned this.

Have any of you experienced the painful scars of infertility even after adopting or conceiving?  Have you heard of others who have?