Mourning the Children Who Never Were

I turned 39 this year, and I’ve been surprised at how this has affected me emotionally primarily because, as a single woman, I am facing the reality that I most likely will never have children. Apparently, all the promises I’ve been given regarding my future family-particularly in my patriarchal blessing—will go unfulfilled. I’ve placed a great deal of hope in those promises, and consequently, my faith has taken a real beating.

Over the years, I have learned to revise my dreams of a family. I started out wishing for a happy, noisy family of four or five kids. Then, as the years went on, I thought three kids would be wonderful. Later, I decided two kids would be a blessing. Eventually, I knew even one would be a miracle. And now I am staring at a future devoid of a family of my own, and I just don’t know how to revise my dreams anymore.

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