Sometimes it hits like a bullet.  So sudden.  So sharp.  So intense.

I can be perfectly happy and content, sitting on the couch next to my incredible husband.  Watching a re-run of some random show and surfing the net, I never suspect that I'm about to be shot.

And then it happens.  Something awakens the pain.

The random show switches to a birth scene.  The daddy excitedly moves up and down, alternately encouraging the mommy and watching for the new arrival.  As the mommy screams and bears down, I find it hard to breathe.  As the daddy's excitement mounts, my dread grows.

Pow!  The baby is born.  The daddy tries to hide the tears that trickle down his cheeks.  The mommy sighs with exhaustion and peers down to see her new baby.  And my heart aches.  The crack where it has been broken before breaks open again.  Pain floods into my soul and leaks out of my eyes in the form of tears.

I can't hold it back.  It's a hard sort of cry.  The kind that causes my body to shake and my breaths to come in heaping gulps.

I will never be pregnant again.  I will never experience birth again.  I will never share that experience with my husband again.  And it hurts.

It hurts so much.

And when it stops hurting, it aches. 

During the ache, I pray.  I ask for peace.  I ask for reassurance.  I ask for comfort.  And I beg God to make the pain go away.

He gives the peace.  He gives the reassurance.  He gives the comfort.

The pain hasn't gone away, but as long as I don't have to handle it alone, I'll be okay.

Thank you, God, for never leaving me alone in my pain.