A Journey Through Infertility: An Empty Room


April 25, 2014 by CassieCravings

In our home, there is a room where the door stays closed. It isn’t locked. There is always access, but we walk by. The doorknob never turns. The sadness is never revealed.

When our house was first ours, that room represented hope. There were many giggles, prayers and dreams shared in that room. Today all that dances in the room is the swirling, undisturbed dust.

Quietly, sadly I turned the knob. The door groaned in protest. It had been such a long time since it was disturbed. The room was still as empty as ever except for one beam of sunlight peering through the window. I stood in its warmth, perhaps to protect myself from the glaring cold of the emptiness.

I ran my hand on the floor where the crib was supposed to stand. I closed my eyes and dared myself to imagine what could have been. Tears dripped from my chin as I imagined a rocking chair worn with late nights of soothing a child. I pressed my toes into the dust on the floor taking in every inch of the room and of what could have been…what should have been.

When we first looked so expectantly at this house, I called this room “nursery.” Now I don’t have the strength to give it a name. It is simply a closed door. It is the understanding in the injustice that 6 of my children carried never made it to my arms. It is the diagnosis of never being able to carry again.

Stiffly I brought myself to my knees. My arms wrapped around myself, attempting to give comfort in my own hug.

Without word, a tiny hand rested on my shoulder. It was sticky, dirty and dimpled. An equally sticky face brushed my cheek for a kiss. “Is you pwraying, my mama? I will pwray too.”

I took his hand in mine, “Yes. I am praying. I am thanking God for you. Doctors say I cannot carry a child, but I carried you. You, my son, are a miracle.”

There is undeniable, unspeakable grief in the loss of my babies. Yet in the same breath there is awe at His mercy in allowing me a child. My tears of mourning are mixed with tears of thankfulness.

In that empty room, my child knelt beside me. He was not soft-spoken or somber as he did not know the hurt of the emptiness. He called out, “T’ank you, God, for letting my mama be mine. You is a good God to make us fam’wy.”

As we hugged each other, we both firmly said, “Amen.”

We rose and walked out of that room. Quietly, I closed the door behind me.




20 thoughts on “A Journey Through Infertility: An Empty Room

  1. chosenformore says:

    Oh wow of wow! I do not know the depth of losing a child let alone six but I know the longing of wanting more for over ten years. It is hard and difficult but I pray our Father in heaven brings you peave and comfort right now. Thank you for posting this… it touched my heart. Love, Ronel

  2. eagles374 says:

    This is great. You should be a writer. Reading this I feel your sadness but cant help wondering God may have another path for that love. So many children in need of love. Maybe just to teach other of things yet to be. I have struggled finacially all my life, always just wanting it a little easier or just a little more. You know to live a normal life. Never satisfied. Now at 50 things have turned. They have gotten worse and really struggling to see a future. Moral…I should have been grateful for what I had and was given. Never underestimate what is given to you because it can be taken away in a blink if an eye. Give the room a purpose. Paint it sunny yellow and write, play music, blow bubbles. Things happen when you least expect. From that joy in the room nay come more joy. If you received one miracle you are blessed look for a face in the crowd and bless them with a miracle

  3. Jennifer Butler Basile says:

    Perfectly beautiful in its sorrow and undying love.

  4. Maggie says:

    Your post is so beautiful and sad and heartfelt. My heart goes out to you. You’ve inspired me to write a post for Infertility Awareness Week myself, though not quite on the same vein as yours. 🙂

  5. Such a loving and emotional heartache. I am so sorry for your losses. I found this site with beautiful poems. Please read.

  6. vtrutz says:

    I have this room in my house too. It is the brightest room in our house, even though it faces the wrong direction for sunlight. Part of me takes that as a sign that miracles are still possible. Just like your little boy- and the miracle that he is!

  7. Beautifully and sensitively written. I had a room like this and only recently filled it with other things….I am in the process of letting go. Blessings to you.

  8. jadajones33 says:

    Why do I read blogs at work sometimes? Thank you for making me cry at work LOL! I’m so sorry to read about your losses. I’ve lost one too and I think about it every day of my life. I hope to have a fam’wy one day! 🙂 God bless you!

    • mamacravings says:

      Aww!! ((Hugs)) for making you cry at work! God bless you! I’m praying that you you get your fam’wy too! I am praying that it will be absolutely perfect and so worth the wait. It’s such a hard, long and unfair wait. Hugs and loves to you!! ❤

  9. mombie says:

    Gorgeous post. Thank you for sharing. 🙂

  10. mrssurreal says:

    Wow. Simply powerful. You are truly blessed with such a wonderful little boy, even if he does not understand the comfort he was giving.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 7,172 other followers

Mamacravings Categories

Mamacravings Archives

%d bloggers like this: