In my head...

It's funny how your brain conjures up images and pictures of things that you want to happen or could happen...

One event occurs and I can imagine a whole lifetime of events that follow.

You go on a first date and if all goes well you are imaging more dates, your first kiss and your first time...

Does it usually happen that way? No!

But you still keep coming up with scenarios.

You do it with job interviews, planned vacations, things as small as meeting for drinks after work all the way to how your cycle is going to end...

I've imagined that my blog would become a documentary or feature film.

I've even imagined starting a Facebook  page for Runt that would rival Grumpy Cat!

You imagine all these wonderful, beautiful scenarios hoping that something wonderful and beautiful will come out of whatever situation has your imagination a buzz.

It's amazing how many outcomes that have never come to see the light of day that have lived inside my head.

But it never ends the way I imagined. (Although Runt could still have his own Facebook page!)

I just keep coming up with these scenarios and it seems that all the scenarios that I have created always end up happening for others!

With my first pregnancy, I was still bartending. For the first month I would sneak off from behind the bar to grab a snack to settle my stomach or to get away from a nauseating smell usually emanating from a patron and all the while I am imagining how I am going to tell all my "Leaf" girls and how  with each shift my belly will become more and more visible.

But no, that didn't happen. I miscarried on Saint Patrick's day while bartending and no one was the wiser. I always think to myself..."Man it's a good thing our uniform had black pants"...because on that day all would have been the wiser if we didn't.

I ended up leaving that job and not too long after one of my "Leaf" girls got pregnant and with each shift she worked her beautiful belly became more and more visible.

I've imagined an "oops" natural pregnancy (and yes there were "opportunities")...but that vision was not for me...but for someone else...

I've imagined high betas, twins, ultrasounds, due dates...

Nope...nope...nope and nope...all to others.

I've imagined my adoption coming through and every Sunday in church when Pastor Don does "Time with Children"  I envision my little baby (okay boy, I will admit it...when I've envisioned it, it was my little boy) running up and sitting on the steps next him.

Actually there have been many things I have imagined in church.

All not so pleasant though.

As I have stated before I am struggling. Struggling with faith. And giving up on believing...

So many times in church, especially when we are sharing the sign of peace I almost expect the whole congregation to turn and point at me while screaming because they have spotted a non believer in their midst...just like the scene at the end of Invasion of the Body Snatchers....

Especially now since I have made the conscious decision to say "He is not."

I don't have the heart to tell Pastor Don. I don't have the heart to tell him I don't believe.

See Pastor Don wrote the most amazing letter of recommendation for me for my adoption so I always envisioned walking into church with my baby knowing he would be blessing my baby and my baby would inherit his faith.

If on Sunday there's a Christening. I watch the service in a daze as I day dream about Pastor Don holding my little baby up for all the congregation to see as everyone sings "Jesus Love Me".

And if there was one daydream, one scenario that I have envisioned, that I would give anything to see come true it would be that...but once again it is not for me...it is for someone else...

Pastor Don has retired.

He ends his service in one month.

I already feel like such an imposter.  But if there is one thing that I do believe in when I walk into that church...it is Pastor Don.

I believe in him.

I believe he believes...

Without him I don't know if I can keep up the facade.

I can't envision sitting in the pew listening to another give a sermon...

Without him I am positive they will all turn and point and scream...

Oh ye of little faith...

A couple of Sundays ago Pastor Don did a sermon on how Jesus fed 5,000 people with 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish.

The miracle of the 5 loaves and 2 fish.

Now I am not "up" on my Bible studies.

To be perfectly honest I haven't read the Bible (well pieces of it I have) let alone studied it.

I am (as stated many times) a work in progress when it comes to religion.

I will be paraphrasing what I took away from the sermon. If I incorrectly comment on the Bible passage or verse please don't take it out on Pastor Don. I am sure that it is a relay of information issue stemming from the "relayer"! Me!

So, Jesus is somewhere where there's a lot of people. About 5,000 people in all and he asks the disciples how much food there is.

They find a boy who has 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish.

All the disciples (or at least a couple of them) start freaking out saying that it is impossible to feed this many people on 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish.

Jesus tells them to bring him the 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish and proceeds to start passing it out and it becomes endless, where he does indeed feed all!

Now Pastor Don talked about the disciples. How the disciples were too consumed with doubt and fear to be able to see the miracle that was just about to happened.

The miracle that was just around the corner.

And then he went on to ask us if in our lives are we too consumed with doubt and fear that we too can't see the miracle that is just around the corner waiting for us.

And it got me wondering...

Could that be the reason why I am almost certain that this cycle has failed?

Because I can't see my own miracle right around the corner...

Is that why I can't embrace and support those who have "crossed over"?

Because I can't see my own miracle right around the corner...

Is that why I am consumed at times with anger and jealousy?

Because I can't see my own miracle right around the corner...

Is that why I am so beaten down and broken?

Because I can't see my own miracle right around the corner...

Is that why the second someone announces something the first thing that comes to my mind is "Go scratch!" or "Bite me!" instead of "Congratulations!"

Is that because I can't see my own miracle right around the corner...

If I could see my miracle would all that change?

If I could have the faith to know for certain that my miracle is just around the corner would I then have the inner peace that would take away all these feelings?

Is that what it truly means to be one with God?

If I could just see the miracle right around the corner would it:

Alleviate my doubts and fears?

Remove my tears that are always near the surface?

Fill the empty void in my heart?

Quiet the voices of defeat?

How does one accomplish this?

Because for me maybe it isn't a matter of faith maybe it's because:

I am certain this cycle's failed because I have taken 4 HPTs (Home Pregnancy Tests) and they have all come out negative.

OR

I can't embrace those who have crossed over because I am still struggling and can't seem to make to the other side myself.

OR

I am consumed at times with anger and jealousy because "see above".

OR

The reason I am so broken down and beaten is because the one thing I want most in this world I can't seem to have and the few times I thought I did it was ripped away from me.

And well "Go scratch!" and "Bite me!" is a lot better than "Fuck off!"

So how does one accomplish that kind of faith?

Because after almost 3 years of heartache all I can think of is that must be one hell of a large corner!

It' gotta be bigger than a city block!

Or around the world?

What is it...right around the corner of the universe!

If it is a matter of faith than how come there were so many times when I was certain.

Positive that this cycle was the one or beyond certain in my pregnancies that this was my baby only to be crushed again and again.

How does one have that kind of faith when every time they do they get steamed rolled?

How do I have the faith that my miracle is right around the corner when all it seems to be is a one big circle?

God's Plan

Courtesy of Google Images

I have never been one to claim complete faith. I have freely admitted that I walk on the edge of cynicism.

I am a work in progress.

I have a lot of "logical" thoughts that take away from that feeling of "blind faith".

But I am trying.

Trying to have the faith and silence the questions.

And there are so many things that I question:

Can you really find salvation by drinking that little cup of juice that represents the blood of Christ?

Are all your sins really forgiven?

How could Moses part a sea?

Was it a sandbar?

Could one man really make an Ark by hand that Elephants could walk on and it still float?

And if Jesus really did do all of those amazing things, how did he do them?

Could he have actually just been the world's very 1st magician?

I am sure that if I lived in those days I would be looking for the string or the sleight of hand.

And of course more importantly I question the more serious issues of the horrors in the world and how they can exists.

For those of you screaming "blasphemy" at me as you read this, I did say that I am trying.

I go to church every Sunday and although at times I may have inappropriate thoughts, I am trying to find the undeniable faith that leads people to make such comments like:

"It was meant to be"

"Everything happens for a reason"

"You will be shown the way"

"God has a plan for you"

And I try to have the faith that will lead me through this dark time in my life.

The faith to know that this is only temporary and that "God's plan" is one of beauty.

But I struggle.

I struggle with the fact that every day I cry.

I struggle with the fact the I have to face this all alone.

No one there beside me to hold my hand, comfort me or wipe the tears from my cheek.

Every day I live with such an unbearable ache in my heart and I wonder what could that plan possibly be?

If God's plan is that I be alone and have no family it is working out perfectly.

But I do know this... if it wasn't for my Infertility I would have never stepped foot back into a church. Well, except for weddings and funerals.

I walked into my church about 1 month after being told that I had: "A practically zero percent chance of conceiving a child..."

I remember telling the doctor: "You're wrong."

I remember biting my lip, holding my head up high, walking out past the receptionists with the pity stares and making my way to my car.

I remember getting into my car putting the keys in the ignition and then I remember I started to hyperventilate.

I was crying so hard I couldn't catch my breath.

The sobs were loud and frequent and uncontrollable.

I tried to compose myself and started the car.

Through vision blurred by tears and bouts of uncontrollable sobs I somehow made it home.

After that I don't really remember every day or each thought.

I remember endless nights of crying myself to sleep and I remember a strong resolve coming over me to prove them wrong.

And that strong resolve I guess was really a glimmer of faith in disguise.

About a month later I found myself walking into church.

"Believe in me because I don't believe in anything and I want to be someone to believe" ~ Counting Crows

I remember after I had been going to church for a couple of months, I was at my "bestest" childhood friend M2's house and she was saying to me: "Well you must be looking for something if all the sudden you are going to church."

Your damn right I am.

I am looking for something.

Answers?

Faith?

Hope?

That allusive fucking reason?

So when I was at fellowship after church the other day and one of the members came up to me and said: "God has a plan for you."

I can't help but wonder what that plan is?

I can't help but wonder if I hadn't made the choices I made when I was younger. If I instead pursued motherhood in my 20's or 30's would that have ruined God's plan or would something have happened and I would be in the same exact place I am today even if I "played" it differently.

And what if God's plan isn't remotely what I've planned?

Do I then just live in misery trying to move forward with my plan but continually stuck because of God's plan?

What if God's plan doesn't include me being a mother?

Than I can no longer be a part of that plan.

I will not accept that fate.

What's the plan then?

Where's the faith?

And what is the fucking reason!

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for ~ U2

As I sat in church today celebrating Palm Sunday I still have my questions and yes I am still looking for something...

Could one man really make an Ark by hand that Elephants could walk on and it still float?

Hey, they made the pyramids...

Did Moses really part a sea?

Maybe my sandbar theory is correct.

But isn't it just as miraculous that they got to the sea at low tide, just in time to cross over and by the time their pursuant got there high tide came rolling in washing away the sandbar?

So there is a little part of me that might say:

Maybe this was part God's plan to find a way to get me back into church or to strengthen my faith.

But really right now in order to keep moving forward God...I could really use a sandbar.

A better place...

When I walked into Saint Clair's Hospital at 6am on November 17th 2011, I was not in a good place.

As I sat there being registered for my Out Patient surgery, I was not in a good place.

Each question the staff member asked I answered without thought, without emotion, without truly being present. I was not there. I was somewhere else and it was not a good place.

And then he asked me "Religion?".

I think for the first time I looked up. I looked at him. I really didn't want to look at anyone. I thought if I looked at someone, if I caught their eye, then they would know. They would know that I lost my baby and I was there for a D&C.

When my sister drove me there and dropped me off, I know for the whole car ride I didn't look at her.

I walked the halls with my head down and I didn't look up as sat there answering this man's questions:

"Name?"

"Address?"

"Birth date?"

Until...until he said: "Religion?"

Then I looked up. I looked at him and I said: "What?"

He said: "Religion?"

"Oh"

Pause...

"Yeah"

Pause... as if I was really thinking about it. Or as if he asked me that question in a foreign language and I was still somehow trying to translate it.

Looking away. Looking down again. Then looking up.

I said as almost an afterthought: "None."

Even though I knew it was a lie. Even though I knew that just a week and a half ago I sat in church beaming, smiling from ear to ear and thanking God for the wonderful gift growing inside of me. Even though only 4 days ago I sat in church praying to God to be able to keep my baby. And even though I knew I would be back in church the following Sunday trying to come to terms with this.

At that moment, in that place, I didn't feel any of it. I felt strangely numb. I felt nothing so I said:

"None."

And I watched him type it in.

I walked down the hall to the elevator. Went to the 2nd floor, proceeded left towards the nurse's station for Out Patient surgery the whole time clinging to my piece of paper that declared "Religion: None".

I even stopped and took a picture of it on my phone. I don't know why. As a reminder? In case I forgot or in case I wanted proof that at that moment, in that place, in that bad place, I declared "None".

Because I had nothing left inside. My baby had stopped growing and I was walking down the hall to be admitted for a surgery that was going to remove what was left.

I was in a bad place and I wanted God to know that in this bad place I said: "None".

The rest of the day was as if I was in a dream.

I was in some faraway place when they put my IV in. Some far off place when they wheeled me to the "holding area" where I waited for Dr. O to come in and take me to the OR.

I was trying not to look at anyone. Trying not to cry and trying to pretend I wasn't in that place.

And then Dr. O came in and walked up to me.

That's when I looked at him. I looked at him with the tears starting to fill my eyes and I begged him to perform every test he could think of because I never wanted to be in that place again.

He took his thumb and wiped away that one tear that somehow got away and rolled down my cheek as he promised to do the tests.

Then everything went back into this dream like state as Dr. O wheeled me into the OR...as they moved me to the operating table and started "plugging me in"...as they placed my legs in the stirrups and strapped them down...as the anesthesiologist was getting ready to put me to sleep and as one overly sympathetic and somewhat annoying nurse kept rubbing my arm and trying to look directly into my eyes.

I kept trying to look away from her and all I kept thinking was "Okay, I get it. Your compassionate!"

"Damn I wish this anesthesia would kick in!"

And it did. And I was off to another place. A place of forgetting. Even if it was only for a little while.

The very next day I went back to work. I had to be in a place where I wasn't thinking about it. Where things were I guess you could say "normal". I need to be in a normal place.

But as the day progressed I could feel the pain of the surgery I had less than 24 hours ago. It was a constant reminder of the place I was really in.

I went through the holidays in a very emotional place but trying to show the world I was in a strong place.

And I tried to avoid any place where there was talk of babies or pregnancy.

I couldn't take it. It hurt too much.

But it didn't matter because the news of babies and pregnancies followed me everywhere like a ghost.

A ghost of my pregnancies past that never ended with a baby where everyone else's did.

And I wasn't even in a place to say "Congratulations" or support friends who were finally in the place I so longed to be.

I was angry and hurt and shocked. I was in disbelief and in constant emotional and spiritual pain.

I was not in a good place and I knew it.

But I didn't care.

I pushed forward in an attempt to move on.

I pushed forward in an attempt to ignore the pain.

I pushed forward because I didn't know what else to do.

And I just so desperately wanted to get back to a better place. Back to the place where I was beaming in church.

So I pushed to do my FET right away.

I had 3 frozen embryos from my IVF cycle.

I also have 5 frozen donor embryos which became available just days after my miscarriage. I was so afraid (and so certain) that my FET with my 3 frozen embryos wasn't going to work that I panicked and grabbed the 5 right away. I had to make sure I was in a place to cycle again when my FET would inevitably fail.

I put myself in a place of contempt for my FET.

I was so down that I had convinced myself there was no way my FET could work.

I am a numbers gal and sided on the law of averages and statistics. I figured there was no way I could "hit it out of the park" after just getting pregnant on my last cycle. I figured I was bound to strike out.

I kept telling myself that when the FET doesn't work I can always try again with the 5 frozen donor embryos.

I was just going through the motions. I wanted to get it over with.

I wasn't in a place of excitement and possibility as I had been just 3 months earlier.

But what I really wanted more than anything was for it work and put me back in the place where I was going to be mom.

But just like I predicted my FET did not work. I transferred 3 beautiful embryos and I am not pregnant.

And then I found myself in a place I never thought I would be in...a place of giving up. A place where I can't imagine cycling again and putting myself through it all again.

It could be because I'm not ready. It could be because I am still in a place of mourning.

I need to be in a better place in order to move forward. I know that. But I'm not sure how to get there.

And then out of a place where friendships and camaraderie are born from struggle something amazing happened...

Some absolutely, beyond incredible women contacted me offering to donate their remaining embryos to me.

Their offer has touched a very deep place in my heart and in my soul.

Knowing that there are people in this world that are so willing to open themselves up to help another already puts me in a better place.

It puts me in their world and I am honored.

And suddenly, I'm feeling my fight coming back. I slowly feel myself moving into a place a hope.

I feel myself finding a better place.

We interrupt this regularly scheduled program…

My sleep was being interrupted by the obnoxious sound of the telephone ringing. My head was pounding. I was hungover. It was too early and the phone was too loud. I shook Sio.

“Who is it?”

Sio looked at the caller ID and grumbled: “It’s your sister.”

In slight outrage I declared “Oh this better be good!”

It better be good because my sister (and my mother and my other sister) all knew “the rule”.

“The rule” was that because both Sio and I worked late in the restaurant and in actuality because both Sio and I partied too much, there were no phone calls before noon.

It was way before noon! This before 9!

I picked up the phone with a very distinct: “What!”

“Are you in the city now?”

“No. I answered the phone didn’t I? Why?” with a distinct tone of sarcasm.

Sissy L was definitely annoying me. She had a way of doing that with early morning phone calls. As a matter of fact her early morning antics are why we had to invoke “the rule” in the first place.

“You’re not going to the city today.”

But there was alarm in Sissy L’s voice that immediately made me sit up.

“No, I don’t have class today. Why?”

Now Sissy L has always been up before the “ass crack” of dawn so she knew as soon as it happened…

“Something’s happening in New York. Turn on the TV”

Shaking Sio: “Get up! Turn on the TV. Something’s happened in the city”

“A plane. Something. Thank God you’re safe.”

“I’m fine. Is that the World Trade Center? Sio what’s going on?”

“A plane hit the World Trade Center.”

“I’ve got to go!”

I don’t think I even remembered that I had a hangover or about my rule. I knew I had to call my friend Corby. He worked in the World Trade Center and he was in the elevator in 1993 when it was attacked but really at this point we only thought this was an accident.

His wife answered.

“Ellen where’s Corby.”

“He’s home. He didn’t feel good this morning so he called in sick.”

“Can I talk to him?”

As soon as Corby got on the phone I started ribbing him.

“Sick eh?”

“I’m telling you Michaela I felt sick to my stomach this morning.”

“Well, let me tell you something Mr. Corby, God must really love you! You escaped a bomb and now a plane. Find another place to work!”

We laughed. And then discussed how it must have been a small plane, some kind of accident and as we were talking, on the TV, almost in slow motion and really actually kinda fake looking, a plane cut through the top third of the 2nd tower.

We stopped talking.

It felt like time stopped ticking.

And then Corby said to me almost monotone:

“Michaela, what are we watching?”

And I replied in that same slow tone: “I have no idea. I’ll call you back.”

I never did call him back that day.

The only other call I made before we lost reception completely was to my mom to make sure she was safe.

To get her certification, my mom was taking a class in the lower 20’s in the city with a yoga master named Dharma (Dharma, I find his name ironic now). She was so proud that she could get in and out of city by herself (my first trip to the city for acting school, she was a nervous wreck). She was supposed to take the early morning class that day but at the last minute decide to do the afternoon class. She would have been far enough away to be safe but close enough to be caught in the chaos. Because on this day if she had gone in to the city, there would have been no getting out.

Sio and I ran out of my apartment and to the top of the hill that had a full view of the most magnificent skyline ever.

Manhattan.

My Manhattan.

We lived close to the Lincoln Tunnel and for as far as the eye could see there were cars.

Cars everywhere.

So many cars that you couldn’t tell if they were trying to get out of New York or if they were trying to get in.

We stood on the top of the hill and watched.

Others began to join us.

And we watched.

We watched as the towers fell.

Miles and miles of cars with their occupants sobbing and a vagabond group on top of a hill that looks outwards towards NYC with their head in their hands too stunned to comprehend what had just happened.

And although my friend Corby was safe, later that I day I found out one of my girlfriends from our shore house was not as fortunate. My friend, Cira Marie Patti, was on the 89th floor of the South Tower. The 2nd tower to be hit. She had time to call her mom and tell her she loved her. May she rest in peace. I am sure I can speak for all my girls from the shore house when I say Cira we love and miss you!

That is where I was 10 years ago.

And today…

Today…

Today in regards to what has happened, I haven’t move on. I have not gotten over it. I just haven’t. I’ve moved forward but I have not moved on. Thinking of that day. The sites. The sounds. The stories. And thinking of my friend, all brings me down to my knees with my head in my hands too stunned to comprehend.

It is just too hard.

Maybe someday I will move on. Just not today.

Today I got up and went to church with my sister. We sat in quiet remembrance.

Today I also started my 8th cycle in my journey to motherhood.

This morning I gave myself my 200 hundredth and something shot.

Today, on a day when I am mourning the loss of a dear friend, mourning the loss of a piece of my city and mourning the little piece of my heart that died that day I will be embarking on a journey of hope. I will be taking new steps towards my dream.

I am starting a new journey on a day that is forever burned into my memory and makes me weak from the enormity of the pain…May this journey ease that pain and someday in remembrance be a day filled with some kind of happiness that might possibly take a little dent out of the pain.

Today I do remember. I will not forget. I am not healed and I am not over it.

But today I am moving forward with a little glimmer of hope.

My Brother In-Law Vince…

I like to think of myself as a spiritual person but if I was to say that I was a religious person, I would be lying.

Yes, when I was younger I used to go to church with my Grandma Hope and yes, over the last two years I have started going back to church.

I am trying to be a religious person but I am not quite there yet.

You see every Sunday when I go to church I wonder if I am fit to sit in that pew.

I tend to have, I guess what I would deem, inappropriate thoughts in church.

Recently over Easter it seemed like every week we would do the Last Supper ceremony with the breaking of the bread and drinking of the wine (well, grape juice) and all I could think of was: “Again!! We are doing this again! Didn’t we do this last Sunday! Ughh…it adds like 20 minutes onto church” (and you can draw out that last statement with a childlike whine!)

And I might add that there have been other “ceremonies” added to the middle of the church service that received the same childlike whining response from me!! Of course only in my head.

That is somewhat inappropriate.

And then there was the time Pastor Don said “Shit” in the middle of the service.

He didn’t really mean to swear at all. He was trying to say two things at once and the word “Shit” came out of his mouth.

Now of course, I start chuckling and looked around to see no one else laughing. I mean, come on, the pastor just said “Shit” but it gets even better…after about 5 minutes Pastor Don says: “I feel I need to pray. Will you pray with me?”

And we all lower our heads and of course all I am thinking is “Pastor Don said Shit! Pastor Don said Shit!” (Inappropriate) and then he starts the prayer and he says; I will paraphrase a little bit but it went something like this:

“Dear Lord please allow the words you mean for me to say be the words that come out of my mouth”

Okay now I am really laughing…the pastor just prayed to God that he doesn’t swear again…and once again I look around and no one else is laughing. Okay I might have caught one or two people laughing. Either way I had to hide my face behind my bible.

Inappropriate. Funny but inappropriate.

During the service there is a moment when the pastor asks the congregation to share any good news. And people raise their hands and then tell of their good news. Well one Sunday a couple raised their hand to tell the good news that they are having a girl! And all I could think was “REALLY!! F&%king really. Does this shit really have to follow me everywhere!!”

That is selfish and inappropriate!

Now, I will not go into the image that came to my mind when the pastor had someone kneel in front of him as he put his hands on their head. Let’s just say from my angle COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE!!

And then there is My Brother In-Law Vince…

During the service there is also a moment where we say a prayer for those people listed in the bulletin and then the pastor asks if there is anyone else we would like to pray for. People raise their hands, the pastor would point to them and they would say who they would like us to pray for and we would all then say “Amen”.

Well, every Sunday there is a woman who sits up front and every Sunday she raises her hand and every Sunday she says a list of people. And every Sunday the last person on the list is always “And my Brother In-Law Vince”.

And all I can think is “Holy Crap! Every Sunday…And my Brother In-Law Vince”

“What the hell is wrong Vince? And why after 2 years is there still something wrong with Vince!!”

“Come on Vince!!”

And I even say it in my head before she says it…”And my Brother In-Law Vince”

That is definitely inappropriate!

And I guess I don’t or should I say didn’t really get it until now…

After I found out my cycle was cancelled…

After the tears, the feeling of complete defeat and the certainty that this all must be signs from God that I should give up.

That night I even yelled at God: “Do you want me to give up because I won’t!”

After all that as I was getting ready for bed or should I say getting ready to cry myself to sleep, I received a text message from a friend of mine:

“Hi Michaela. I was thinking about u and I was praying for u today so u can become a Mom and have your baby. Don’t worry. It will happen”

Just like that I received a different kind of sign. I received a prayer.

And I know that there have been many friends and family telling me that they are praying for me. And it is not that I don’t believe them or think their prayers are any less significant.

It’s just that this text came at 9:05pm when no one knew my cycle had been cancelled yet. When I was asking God if he was sending me negative signs and begging for a positive one.

“I was praying for u so u can become a Mom and have your baby”

Praying for me, so I can have my baby…

“Don’t worry. It will happen”

And there was my sign…

And then there were more tears…tears of hope.

And then suddenly I got it. In my heart I got it.

And that night before I went to bed, I said a prayer for her Brother In-Law Vince.