Don't ask me how I'm doing, it pains me to have to lie.
Please don't tell me to have a great day, because nothing is great about it.
These are two of the worst parts of my day.
Every day I wake and put on a brave face as I ready my children for school and kiss my husband goodbye.
I get in the car and proceed on my long commute to work.
About 3-5 minutes into my ride I let down my front and begin crying. I cry for Jude. I cry for the other 4 babies I lost and never got to grow as close to as I did Jude and that makes me feel guilty. I cry because of the effort I put into this last round of IVF, yet it only lasted a few weeks. I cry because my children keep asking me for a brother or sister and I can't seem to give it to them and eventually they'll change their minds and not want one because I took too long and they grew too old to care. I cry because I see an aging woman in the mirror staring back at me. I cry because of the financial stress I've added upon myself. I cry because I feel alone. I cry because God has left me alone.
I later grow angry because of the judgement so many have placed on me throughout this. I've lost quite a few friends in this painful ordeal. People are so quick to offer advice, a scripture meme, and place judgement on you when they themselves have no idea what it's like. They are fast to assume that because you don't post on Facebook daily a picture of your kids and a hashtag #blessed that you couldn't possibly be grateful for your existing children. They are fast to assume that because you didn't thank God for your trial of losing a fifth child, you mustn't have listened to your conference talks and need to get closer to God. They are fast to assume that because you aren't in relief society on Sunday and instead choose to spend that time with your children in sunbeams, you aren't spiritually ready to receive blessings.
Well that's a crock of shit.
No, I'm not grateful for a trial of losing 5 children, but you know what I am grateful for? The ability to not be a complete asshole who "means well" to someone who has lost 5 children.
I'm grateful that I do not pass judgement on someone who doesn't post pictures and scriptures on Facebook every day because I can assume they too, like myself, are too busy enjoying their children in the other room and doesn't have the time to get on Facebook.
After arriving at work, I try to crank out as much work as I can before people arrive and begin chattering about insignificant personal issues and how much of a burden their wives pregnancies have become. I sneak to the bathroom two or three times a day to cry in the stall and pray for mercy.
At the end of the long and emotionally draining day, I get back in my car and cry as I sit in traffic and get stared at by the surrounding cars.
I arrive to pick my children up at daycare and again are greeted with a "how are you?" upon entering the building with a red nose and teary eyes.
I walk through halls lined with baby seats, multiple seated strollers and windowed doors with views of dozens of babies. I cry again as I remember that I should be carrying a few of those baby seats myself and I try again to suck back the tears and pick my kids up from their 4 month pregnant teacher.
I hug my children and begin the act of being okay all over again as I drive home to begin making dinner and hope that my kids will want to play with me later as they're growing older and need me less and less these days.
It's only a few hours before I have to put them to bed and start this process all over again.
I'll never understand why or forget that God did this to me. I'll never stop hurting for my children. And I'll never be the same. Constant fertility treatments for an entire year and 4 years of trying has taken its toll on me physically and emotionally and it's not fair. Not fair at all. There is no convincing me that God does not hate me. I do not believe he hates others and have a great faith that he helps others and answers other people's prayers. I've seen miracles in other people's lives. However, he does not hear my prayers. He does not hear my children's prayers. He does not accept my sacrifices or fasts. He does not love me.
