The choice I have is not the choice I want. It just is.
It’s a choice to live in the present and the future – to live with what is and what will be instead of bemoaning what didn’t come to be. I wanted the choice to have more. Or not. Instead, I have the choice to move on. Or not.
Another mother asked me if I cry every day because I can’t have a second, a third, a fourth.
No. I don’t.
I can’t have another baby. I can’t. I ache when I type those words. I ache when I say them aloud. And I do say them aloud when people ask, “Have you thought of having another?” Of course we have. We can’t.
But I don’t cry about it. I don’t wallow in it. Sometimes I cringe, or ache, or sigh, or have a mini-pity party. But it has to pass. I have this life, this is my only shot, and I’m lucky enough to have one amazing little girl. Lucky enough. Lucky enough. Enough.
I’ve said it before. She is enough. And that has to be enough. Period.
It is. It just is. It’s not my fault. I couldn’t have tried harder. I couldn’t have tried more. It just is.
I have to continue to stumble my way through this life. I’ve learned enough to know that I don’t know it all, but not enough to think I’ll be able to cope with what’s next.
This chapter has to be over. I have to let it go. It’s not as simple as that. I’m not going to wake up tomorrow healed. I’ll wake up tomorrow and continue to choose to move one more day into the future. That’s all I can do.
It is. It just is.