I cried. I sobbed. I wept.
I wept for my husband, who very well may never be a father. His kind and loving soul, his beautiful blue eyes, his perfect smile, his humor. Things that may never be passed down, exuded in a tiny mini-me or a female representation. No little person to share the mischevious glimmer in their eye as they cleverly prepare to pull the best practical joke ever. No huge fan of burritos made of spaghetti. My husband will likely not be a dad. It's so very different from our wedding day and before, when we envisioned an idealic family of four... painting, creating, riding, swimming, laughing. He'd be an amazing dad, and an amazing partner to a mom, which is different than husband to a wife. He'd be the most supportive dad-to-be, procuring the objects of my cravings, rubbing my back, making sure every groan and ache was taken care of. When the baby came, he'd get up early, taking care of the 2am feeding, kissing us good-bye as he shlumped off to work at 7, bleary eyed and exhausted. To support us. He'd be the one to teach our little one to ride a bike, to crack a joke, to blow kisses. He'd be... incredible. I wept for him.
I wept for my dad. He's so excited to someday be a Grandpa. And he will, but pretty much not from me. There may be no rendition of me sitting next to him in overalls and pigtails at Rose Canyon Lake, waiting hours for the tiny fish to bite. When I was little, he'd play baseball with me in the front yard. I'd make him crawl the bases so that I couldn't be beat. He taught me to shoot, he taught me to drive. He taught me 5-card draw and 7-card stud, betting with uncooked pasta. These are memories and traditions that will likely end with me.
I wept for me. Long hard sobs. A decision made and agreed upon that means that we'll just let things be. A decision that means there's only a 5% chance the guest room will ever be anything more than the home of my craft and baking supplies. I wept for feeling awful for not being able to fix it. A string of IUI and IVF failures among Bumpies not nearly outweighed by successes. A group of friends, strangers, peers, fellow IF strugglers whom I had the highest of hopes for. I sobbed for them and their sadness. Seeing the darkness outweighing the light made the weight lay heavily on my heart to continue with anything. We're admitting defeat by fear and hesitation, and accepting that at least for the long time being, that we're done. I wept for what I just may never have.
Tonight, I wept.