It happened again. This wasn’t the first, neither was it the second nor the third. As the blood trickled, the tears came pouring out like a fountain.
“Lord why?” I cried out. After 10 years of waiting, why should I still suffer miscarriages, I thought aloud, crying even harder. Perhaps the tears could wash away the pain I felt. The shame became unbearable, and the pressure mounted more. No thanks to my mother in-law who had become a pain in the neck.
This was not what I had bargained for. It wasn’t a part of the covenant I made with God. Hubby and I had prayed against any form of delay in child birth, having seen the trend in his lineage. His mother was plagued with delay and after many years, she conceived her only child- my husband.
Broken, I resigned to fate. God hasn’t kept his part of the covenant, why should I continue to keep mine. Equally broken, my husband held on to faith. He had sworn to judge Him faithful regardless of what might happen. The feud began. Why couldn’t my husband pitch his tent with me? Why would he keep holding on to hopeless faith when it was so evident that I might not be able to conceive again? After the last miscarriage, the gynecologist had said my womb was already too weak to keep children till full term.
“Whose report shall we believe? The doctor’s or God’s?” My husband asked. I did not know where he got his faith from, but it really got to my nerves. As for me, I was done with God and done with him for good. I’d rather live as one who has never known God, than to hold on to a God who has chosen to fail me.
“Mama is coming home,” my husband announced. This information came as a bombshell. Anytime she came around, it was one story or the other, all of the message pointing to my childlessness.
“Has she come to confirm my bareness and ridicule me more,” I blurted, angry at the unwelcoming news that greeted my ears.
“What’s your problem, Tomike? Must you rub your negativity on my mother? She’s doing all this because she cares for you as a child and nothing more. You had better stop all these rubbish and cease calling yourself a barren woman,” my husband retorted, infuriated by my outburst.
“Can you hear yourself, Mr. Man. Why do you speak so foolishly like you do not know my plight. Why can’t you take sides with me and tell her to delay her coming.” Giving my husband a condescending look.
“You have her number, why don’t you do the calling. You talk as though you’re the only childless one here. Aren’t we in the same shoes together?” He hissed, moving a little farther from me.
Hearing this, I broke down completely. “I’m sorry. It’s just that the pain and shame keeps getting much. I’m tired. I just want to give up,” I sobbed and sniffed, falling into my husband’s arms.
“Sweetheart, we’ll be fine”, he said, stroking my hair. “I’m sorry for speaking in a rough manner, it was never my intention to hurt you.” Planting a peck on my cheek, he held me closer to himself.
My fate had begun to eat up my husband’s faith. I had woken up to ease myself when I saw my husband lost in worry, drinking in his tears. Drawing closer to him, I saw pain written on his face. He burst into tears, releasing the vault of tears that he has suppressed for so long. After the episode of tears, we translated to a session of prayers, pouring our hearts as it were to God, with all of its heaviness and grief.
watch out for episode 2.