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| Backward Glance by Angelina Mosley |
The Chicago marathon is in full swing. The El whirs above a mass of runners and the crowd roars. They round the corner and the camera moves in on a brunette woman as she makes the turn. She glances to her left where her family is cheering. The camera cuts to her exuberant 9-year-old daughter yelling, "Mom! Mom!" – a huge smile on her face.
I shut my eyes.
A singer stands on a stage and the lights go down. Anxious family members watch from the sidelines. They grab hands in excitement, anxiousness and pride. The lights go up, the music starts and the singer sings. A judge hits a button and their red chair swings around. The family goes nuts. Shouting, crying, laughing, hugging.
My throat clenches.
Both of these scenes quietly remind me that I will never experience the pride of a daughter cheering me on, or a family yelling from the sidelines because they believe in me and want to be where my dreams might come true.
Something I didn't expect about infertility was that it carries its burden into middle age. I did not realize the pain would intensify and shift. As I move through my 50's, my friends are starting to have grandchildren. Their beautiful expressions feel like a blade in me. I long to be comforted inside a family who knows me. But most of my siblings live on the opposite coast and have families of their own. My husband's siblings also live far away with their own children and grandchildren. We have dear, sweet, wonderful friends and we are loved, but there are unexpected moments I cannot dodge. Like the marathon commercial and the singing contest.
I admit it's not hard to wallow in self-pity, which is why I escape in front of the television, but it seems even there, I am not safe.
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{As waves of anger take my breath, I gasp. I wail. I shake my fist. And then I reach...my fingers stretched. And He is here, holding me tight and whispering, "I know."}
