Yesterday, a beautiful baby girl was born to a good friend of my husband. I “hearted” the Facebook post and we will stuff a baby toy in a box, sign a note exclaiming how thrilled we are for them. And I am. At least that is what I say, but in truth, this event has magnified my own pain. It has reminded me that I’m not as healed as I thought I was.
The best way I can explain it is with an analogy to a broken leg. The pain you feel when you break it is palatable. It is a potent mixture of pain and shock. After awhile with good drugs and a cast, the pain subsides. The cast starts to itch, an annoyance and reminder but no sharp pain like when you broke it. The cast finally comes off, and you can use your leg. It is a sense of relief; you can breathe, your leg can breathe. You are feeling good, whole and back to yourself. You feel healed though you still treat the leg gingerly. Something causes you lunge, run, or jump without thinking and there is that pain again. Almost as sharp as when you broke, and it lingers, dull and persistent. A reminder that you are not as fully healed as you thought you were. A reminder that this kind of wound takes time. It makes you question if you will ever be healed. If every time a friend gives birth, everytime you hold or see an infant that is not your own, as you watch your friend’s babies become children then young adults, that you’ll feel that pain.