Trusting in the path…
When I was 33, I hit the “fertility wall” with a resounding SMACK. There was no climbing over it or crashing through it; my gene pool would die inside of me.
As a tremendously focused woman, I always knew where I was going. Throughout my life I watched as each turn lined up to be in synch with my goals. I always ended up on the best path for me and more times than not ended up at a destination that worked.
It is my belief that I am on a unique path that was meant especially for me, and that belief was seriously challenged when I stared straight into the unshakable label of “infertile.” It is the rare woman who expects to be told that she can’t have children, and it is the rare woman who handles it with grace.
I am no exception to the rule. The questions one asks of oneself, during those first moments of true realization are harsh and unforgiving. What happened to my path? I must have strayed and missed a turn, but where? My husband married a barren woman. Why did that bad genetic apple have to fall on my lap? Was this fair? Was it truly in the cards? Maybe I should change doctors? Maybe one more invasive procedure would do the trick. My ever-so-clear path had disappeared and I was left to ask “why” while shaking my life compass hoping, that north was still north.
It wasn’t until January 17, 2006 that my path reappeared more defined than ever before. For on January 17, I held my son Parker for the first time in Seoul, South Korea. My path had taken me a distant 6, 862 miles away from my home, but it could not have been closer to my heart. Those first precious few moments that I held Parker, I was in awe of his almond shaped eyes and as I touched his fine jet black hair. There was no doubt that he was meant to be with me, with us. My path brought me to motherhood through a journey I never dreamed of and introduced a child to a family who so ached for one.
Looking back, how could I have ever doubted the path? Each day I can’t believe I ever questioned the madness that had become our lives before Parker. I know from experience that it is almost impossible to take yourself out of the situation to fathom that there could be something wonderful and amazingly magical waiting for you around the next turn, but if you can, do.
Parker, now nine months old, screams with glee when he sees me and I enthusiastically return the greeting. I cannot imagine a different life, cannot imagine a different baby here with my husband and I. Looking back now; there was no other plan, no other path – this is my belief. And I know one day my black haired, almond-eyed son, Parker, will believe that his special, unique path was meant especially for him, for he is already on it.
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