better angels

A month after I got married, A (the ex-SO and father to my lost babies) also got married.  She is 17 years younger than him and in the prime of childbearing life.  And yesterday afternoon A emailed me to say that his son was born at the weekend.

I am completely happy with my life as it is now, I wouldn't change S for anything and being childless no longer bears the same sharp pain as it used to.  And I am happy that A has got everything he ever wanted.

But oh, reader, how I am struggling with how to word my congratulatory email to A.  Because deep, deep inside I can't help but think "it isn't fair".  I want my better angels to surface and take hold but they appear to be AWOL...

grab and run

What would you snatch up if you had to run out of your home because it was on fire?  Last night A grabbed his laptop and back-up hard drive, I seized my darling little cat and stuffed her into her travel box in one smooth movement and grabbed my beloved childhood toy Threadbare Tedbear.  At first, as we all stood outside shivering and watched as four fire engines' worth of firefighters struggle to conquer the blaze, I thought that I could not possibly lose my home and recover.  Not after everything else that has happened the past 3 years.

Then, as the fire showed signs of spreading and a chunk of the roof caved in I realised that A was standing next to me, cradling our darling little cat's box in his arms and knew that everything I needed was right there and, if necessary, everything else could be replaced or let go.

By 1.30 this morning, the blaze was out.  The fire didn't spread to our end of the building and we were allowed back in.  We, and everything around us, smells of smoke but we are safe and our home is safe.  One staircase over, though, is a very different story.  The flat where the fire started is gutted and the five below and across are soaked.  I went over this morning to help a neighbour who had returned to try and salvage some items from her drenched flat, and standing in the stairwell I could see sky.

All of us here in this community have experienced loss and we are, every one of us, all too acutely aware that life is fragile.  Watching flames lick their way across to my home, my safe and constant place, made me realise this as if for the first time.

What if...?

What if Significant Other never forgives me for losing our babies?

He almost left after we lost Starchild, he could barely look at me after we lost Bean, and now - four months after my last (and final) miscarriage - he may be about to leave for sure.

What if he never forgives me for robbing him of the chance to be a father, to leave something behind to carry on his genes and his memory and at least his partial likeness?

Significant Other may decide after all that leaving me is the key to his future. He may meet someone younger / more fertile / both of these things and have a child and be happy. But what if he can never forgive me for the loss of the three children that, in one way or another, my body killed?

What if he can never forgive me for the years of pain and sadness my infertility has caused him?

He was in love with me once, what now seems like a lifetime ago. Sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I think I see him looking at me with that same love. What if that love is still there somewhere, buried beneath the sand of this island of misery on which we seem to be stranded and we can find it again? What if we can, after all, live a different kind of life?

This post was written as part of the Bloggers Unite: Project IF. Click here for a list of heart-wrenching "what-ifs".
To learn more about infertility go to Resolve.
And this week - 24th April - 1st May is NIAW