A Measure of Faith

It’s been almost a month now.

I still cry, almost everyday. Not the heart-breaking, wailing cries like before. Most of the time I don’t actually cry; it’s just that the tears are quick to fall. I don’t even need to dwell in the thoughts like how it would feel holding a baby in my arms, and kissing his little nose before he goes to sleep (and again the tears fall as I’m writing this). A simple sentence that flashes through my mind like “I was supposed to be counting down to my due date now” or “I was supposed to be uploading pics of my beautiful baby just like her” is enough to make me weep – sentences that arise because of Facebook and BBM statuses.

Well, I can’t hide from the world, either. I can’t stop looking at my social networks and connecting with other people just because I don’t want to feel miserable. Life must go on and I need to face the reality.

Sometimes I like to pretend like this is just a dream.. and I’m still pregnant and everything is okay.. and I’m going to deliver a beautiful healthy baby boy next week.. but who am I kidding?

These 26 days have been so hard.. And there are still 14 days to go to make it 40 and I can try to go back to normal life. I simply believe that God has given me a daily measure of faith, sometimes just a teaspoonful, other times less or more, so that I can live through one day after another.

Sometimes it’s painful even to breathe, because I miss my baby so much it hurts. I’m afraid to think of the future, afraid to hope, afraid to imagine. I’ve learnt how to live with seeing only one stepping stone ahead, but I’ve never felt like this before. It’s so foggy I can’t see even one stepping stone ahead. I feel stuck and powerless and helpless.

I keep on telling myself that it’s okay, I still have my husband and it is enough, he is God’s best gift ever and I know he will always be beside me. But the mother in me just disagrees. It’s not enough. I can’t be a childless mom.

I know that the answer is just to wait. Time will heal, and I will get back on my feet and I will be okay. Maybe I’ll even be happy again. Maybe, maybe.... I’ll get a second chance and God will give us the healthy, happy baby we’ve been longing for.

But now I’m just barely holding on. I struggle everyday not to feel sorry for myself, and trying so hard to focus on other things although I don’t feel like doing anything and there is nothing to look forward to. I am restless, and insecure, and waiting.

At first I set my mind to be excited about going back to my “previous” looks, excited about being nice and slim again, and doing activities I did before I was pregnant. But apparently my body has changed so much it’s impossible to go back 100%. And now I’m more insecure than ever. My husband said that it’s okay and that he loves me no matter what, but still it’s hard to shake this feeling off.

I can’t help wondering what I did wrong, and I know that I’m not supposed to blame myself in any way, but I’m just so sad that I can’t give my husband a healthy baby boy he is so eager to have. It’s killing me.

I can’t stand the look of pity in people’s eyes as they learn what happened or ask how am I doing. I know I have to be strong, but I’m just not tough enough, and all I want to do is run and hide behind my blanket.  

I just hope that time flies quickly, let my body recover soon and my feelings too, that I might be able to rejoice in God and put everything behind me, start a new chapter with faith and excitement of what’s to come.

This is the darkest time. And people may judge me and my faith. But I’m grabbing on to my measure of faith for today, my thread of hope. And I won’t let go.