Without a word our glances meet. He sees the bitter grief in my eyes and knows my thoughts... the wound I'm salting... again. His eyes caress me with his tender gaze of love.
"When does it hurt?" he asks me softly.
I sigh deeply. I don't like talking about it; even with my dearest love. It's too painful.
"When does it hurt?" he repeats gently. His compassionate tones massage my aching heart.
"When women complain about morning sickness. When friends who have been married a couple of months post sonogram pictures online. Every time I see a baby. When I hear women say 'oh, I've had my two and now I'm done.' When I see you playing so sweetly and naturally with our nieces and nephews. When nosy people ask 'when are you going to start your family?' When I see the pregnant teens in my religious ed classes. When I pass the baby clothes section of a store. When judgmental old ladies in the pews feel it their duty to tell me contraception is evil. When I pray novenas and get no answer. When I think of the women who kill their babies. When I cook dinner... for just 2 people. Pretty much all the time."
My husband is so loving. He's so good. He's so dear. He just holds me closer. Minutes pass and my quiet sobs slow to stuttered sniffs.
"Yeah," he murmurs. "I know. It does hurt sometimes."
I'm blindsided. My self-pity and self-centeredness shatter as I realize for the first time... he's hurting too.
