Some Dreams Just Don’t Come True

We learn at a young age to follow our dreams, that all our dreams will come true… our parents encourage us, our teachers encourage us, our friends encourage us.  There are so many inspiring quotes out there about it “never being too late for your dreams to come true.”  I’ve tried to listen.  I’ve tried to believe this.  But…

… some dreams just don’t come true.

Growing up, I always wanted to be a mother.  I saw myself having 3-4 children.  I even had names picked out for them that changed through my childhood years.  I was anxious to have kids, to see if they would look at all like me, act like me. 

I met my husband young at the age of 16 at our first jobs.  A quiet shy boy at the time.  My father wondered aloud, “You should date that studious looking boy.”  Honestly, he wasn’t my type.  I was interested in another boy but being that that relationship wasn’t going further than friendship with that other boy I went on a date with my husband.  This was back in 1996.  I found him mysterious and intelligent and grew more and more to loving him.  We talked long before our wedding in 2004 about kids.  He is an only child and actually enjoyed it.  My mother was an only child and hated it. 

I never wanted an only child.  Ever.  Only 1 child was not in my dreams.  I always dreamt of more.

We talked and talked and he eventually convinced me that 2-3 was the way to go.

Our beautiful daughter, Sophia, was born in 2006.   One month later I was in short term psych with Postpartum Depression and Anxiety.

My husband then decided 1 child was enough as he became a single parent for 12 days of a newborn while working full-time over an hour away.  He would not budge from this decision for a few years.  As the recession hit, I agreed for the time being.  We couldn’t afford another child.

But dreams sit in your brain…

As we recovered from the recession and as I saw friends having babies, I wanted a 2nd child.  My husband was against me getting pregnant for fear of suffering from Postpartum Depression once again.  We had discussed adoption before since we both had close relatives that were adopted.  He agreed and we went to an open house at DCF on my birthday that year.  After a few weeks of classes, a few months of waiting, we received our license.  All we did was wait for our child.

Only about 2 months later we were matched.  I was finally going to have my 2nd child.  The family I always dreamed of.  And, he was perfect to me.  A toddler full of energy (and responsibilities), curious, wanting to be loved.  My love for him was instant from the first day I met him.  I called him my son from that moment on.

… then the anxiety came… then the depression came… then my son was removed.

… some dreams just don’t come true.

Almost a year later and I’m still blaming myself, blaming my illness.  It’s all my fault.  I am still grieving losing him to my mental illnesses.  I am still grieving losing myself to my mental illnesses.  I am still grieving losing my dream to my mental illnesses.  My dream… the children I won’t have.  The many hugs and kisses and laughs… envisioning 3 rambunctious kids jumping on me.  Watching them all play together and fight together.  My dream, stolen from me by myself, by my Depression and Anxiety, my mental illnesses.  A dream I have had for decades, since childhood.

Now, I am the mother of an only child, something I never wanted in my wildest dreams, and I love her deeply to infinity and beyond.  She is my rock, my reason for pushing through every depressive episode.  She is my funny, loving, sympathetic girl.  But…

… some dreams just don’t come true.

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