I am a grown-ass woman, and most days I’m proud of that. But there are days when I have deep regrets. I tried my best to be a good mother and somehow I failed. If I only knew the reasons why maybe I could fix it, then again maybe I can’t. Maybe it’s not supposed to be fixed, I don’t know. But today it hurts deeply.

Yesterday would have been my sister-in-law’s birthday. Sadly she never got to see life past 13 months. I listen to the phone conversation between my husband and father-in-law and hear the pain sadness and both of their voices. The conversations they have felt what might have been. The talk of the fact that there are no grandchildren. And it breaks my heart. My failure is a mother seems Amplified somehow. The fact that I don’t have the physical ability to try again somehow feels like fitting punishment. Almost as if we’re good Lord knew that I didn’t get it right the first time and I shouldn’t be allowed the fuk it up again. My sweet husband and I have had this conversation more then once and he tells me that he does not regret not having children. But on days like yesterday I wonder. Today my heart is just filled with sadness for the Lost. The Lost daughters the Lost possibilities. I’m working on acceptance, acceptance of that which I cannot change. If you are a parent hug your children, tell them you love them and know that nothing is promised nothing is guaranteed. And if my daughter ever manages to find this and read it I love you my child with all my heart. I always will. So until miracles happen I will just go home and hug my four-legged babies and be grateful ffirfor what I had when I had it