[The story of every mother whose scars are unseen]
My husband and I happened to be the only surviving members of our ultra-small family for a very long time after our marriage. Being childless wasn’t a choice made by us. We surrendered our wavering hope to the hostile uterus that refused to shelter tiny parts of us. The loss of an unborn child was harder to cope with, than I had imagined. Grief was short-lived. It stayed for months or even a few years, but at some definitive point it did fade, leaving behind a new, permanent fabric of life: FEAR
Fear takes different forms. Sometimes, it knocked gently in subtle forms of caution and instinct. But when it landed on a deaf ear, repellent forms like worry, anxiety and stress began to lay seige. Each of them then lead to a variety of conditions including sleeplessness, palpitation, nausea, hyperhidrosis, night eating syndrome and persistent headaches. Shut it as much as you want. Hide as much as you can. But, pain finds a way to creep in through the crevices and seeks refuge at the seat of your gut. It never let me forget the losses I bore, even years after my first child was born. Never could I take for granted, even for a split second, the existence of the only child that had managed to see the light of day. His safety being the only battle I choose to fight with every ounce of strength left in me.
And, every time my precious little one attempts to jump off a window bar or climb a ladder or even wave at me standing on the edge of a slide, my whole world comes crashing down with an unfathomable intensity. His carefree jump might possibly not harm him as much as my own guard of over protectiveness. I look around and find happy parents engrossed in their own circles of laughter, gossip and camaraderie. And, that makes me wonder, how neurotic could I be to not feel any of those feelings of light-heartedness or joy. I often die a thousand deaths before I am resurrected by the healing sound of my child’s laughter after he has safely descended the slide, and I finally start gasping for a huge breath, compensating for the one’s i missed in between. How long would it take for me to trust in a higher power watching over him and keeping him safe, beyond human frailties? Some scars are far too deeper than we know.