"Maybe This Is Our Blessing"
Imagine this:
Following a whisper, an inner nudge after a few cravings,
thinking hmm, could this be?
But I doubt it… Sis is pushing 43,
these ovaries been on strike,
talking about early retirement.
Rummaging through the “oops” emergency stash,
I find an old pregnancy test.
Fighting to hold my urine, laughing to myself—
Girl, things don’t flow like they used to.
I take the test…
Positive.
Staring.
Frozen.
Bathroom floor.
Mouth open.
Brain buffering.
Do I tell him?
Do I wait?
Do I even believe this?
What in the actual is happening?
And then the flood of memory...
We’ve been here before.
Before the vows, before the security.
That time I wasn’t sure.
Newly married, newly everything.
That child was honeymoon-made,
but grief met joy too soon.
Yet now…
Now it’s different.
Now I’m in love. Real love. Safe love.
Now, the thought of bringing life
doesn’t feel like a burden,
but a beautiful becoming.
Could God really be mistaken?
Or is this... the miracle?
A second chance.
To parent with purpose, not fear.
To love beyond duty.
To heal what trauma once tore.
Maybe
Just maybe
This is our blessing.
“So Many Fears, So Much Hope”
The fear of the unknown
lingers beside the soft desire
the wanting.
To build onto this family,
this love we’ve stitched together
with time, tears, and tenderness.
I dream her.
Our daughter.
I see her eyes soft, deep, knowing.
I feel her breath on my chest,
her tiny feet kissed by trembling lips,
the curve of her neck sweet with that
newborn scent of heaven.
I nurse her in my mind,
hold her tight in my prayers.
But the fears…
they come in waves.
The last pregnancy left scars,
silent ones wrapped in grief and unanswered questions.
And now?
I’m in my 40s.
“Should’ve known better,” they’ll say.
“You had your chance,” they whisper,
“Why now?”
Why now
when the body aches longer,
when the mind remembers pain
so clearly it makes joy feel like a setup?
Because this time feels different.
Because love lives here now.
Because I’ve survived enough to know
that fear isn’t a reason not to try.
Still the voice returns:
You chose to create life
with someone who never loved you,
never honored your womb,
your worth.
And now, now you want a do-over?
This late?
Yes.
Because healing has no deadline.
Because love deserves legacy.
Because maybe this time
my joy doesn’t have to be stolen.
So many fears…
But so much hope.
And that hope?
She has a heartbeat.
"When God Takes It Back"
Doctor’s visit number three.
HCG not rising.
No heartbeat.
No growth.
Ultrasound screen blank like the echo in my chest.
They say “ectopic.”
They say “dangerous.”
They say “surgery.”
And just like that
the dream ends
in fluorescent lights and whispered medical terms.
A womb once filled with hope
now becomes a risk,
a war zone.
My soul clenches.
Tears fight their way out.
This isn't how it was supposed to go.
I got pregnant on my honeymoon.
I traced due dates on the calendar
and smiled when I saw
my birthday.
A gift.
A divine wink.
God, what are you doing?
I sit in the stillness,
my husband’s eyes locked on mine
not the baby, not the loss,
just me.
His worry is real.
His love, unshaken.
But mine mine is torn in pieces.
Because a part of me wants to fight.
To believe.
To risk it all.
To say:
This is my miracle, and I will not let it go.
But the doctor speaks again.
And this time, they are not asking.
They are telling.
And I have to decide.
Life, yes
but whose?
I feel like I’m doing God’s work,
growing life, giving love.
And now—
God is taking it back?
Why would You tease me with hope
just to snatch it away?
Is this punishment?
A lesson?
Or is it mercy in a form I’ll never understand?
My body may be breaking,
but my spirit
it’s still reaching for grace.
So I whisper in the waiting:
If You’re taking this life,
please leave me mine.
And if You’re breaking my heart,
please hold the pieces.
Because I don’t know how to do this.
But I know I am not alone. My.husband holds me.close, affirms me, a shares in his pain ensuring validating his struggle and that together we can overcome this pain.
When a woman loses a child, the world often sees her pain…
but let’s not forget men grieve too.
He may not cry out loud.
He may stay strong for her.
But inside, he’s holding shattered dreams,
quiet prayers, and silent heartbreak.
He imagined that laugh.
That name.
That future too.
Men are taught to be the rock… but even rocks crack under enough weight.
So to the fathers who lost without a crib to rock,
who grieve in silence while supporting someone else’s tears
we see you.
Your pain is valid.
Your grief matters.
Your love was real.
Let’s make space for both hearts to heal.
Because grief doesn’t wear a gender.
#FathersGrieveToo #PregnancyLossAwareness #MenFeelToo #SilentGrief #HonorBothParents #painisaprtofthejourney
