Happenings In Marriage Five Years Without Child

The couple's strength after these five years of childlessness has been extremely tested, and the burden of it has even impacted their views on life. One may be wondering if they were wrong in their past lives. Watching these happy families and their children causing you to desire their blessings. The night cat's cry makes you use the holy water in your room, praying for the cat's tears not to bring any negativity. But still, the emotions are there, and the marriage is never the same.

The husband started to withdraw emotionally. I would imagine that during his moments of silence divorce was on his mind, and he was not very vocal. He would leave for work early and would come back late but instead of fuming over him, I was wondering, “What does he have to come home to?” I would be standing near the stove, warming his food twice before he got home, so that a hot dinner would be waiting for him instead of the warmth of a family.

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When he arrived, he would say hello and disappear into the bedroom, sometimes he would not come out again, and it would be my dinner and I against each other. I was disturbed, and I cried quietly, feeling sorry for myself but at the same time, I felt sorry for a husband who had once proclaimed his love for children and his willingness to have many of them around him.

One night after a long day of waiting for him, I finally opened my mouth. “Do you still want this marriage?” I asked. He didn’t answer, but his look seemed to ask why I was asking. “Because you have been so distant,” I went on. “Even when we are together, it seems that we are both lonely.”

“Oh, I didn't see that. I'm going to try harder,” he said while going to the bedroom. I expected he would come back and try, but that did not happen. He went to bed without taking a shower or eating the dinner I had made for him. That night, I prayed not just for the change, but for the miracle, or anything that could bring happiness back to our marriage.

Just before the sixth anniversary, the good news had finally come to me; I was pregnant because of the missed period. However, when the hospital confirmed it, I couldn’t even celebrate because I was too tired to jump or scream. I just said in a whisper, “What were you waiting for?”

I went home and told my husband the news. “How did you find out?” he inquired. I gave him the test results and the expression on his face changed. He said, “Wow…” and then his eyes turned to me the same way. “Finally…” he said. “Yeah, finally,” I answered.

We were in the talk mode for the entire day and later, when it was time to sleep, we carried on with the conversation on the bed. Finally, we had something to share, a dream realized that both of us valued. We named our baby: "Isaiah, if it's a boy," he proposed. "Nhyira, if it's a girl," I said.

The ultrasound result was that it was a boy, and we couldn't wait any longer to start shopping for baby stuff. My husband teased me about his victory, which restored playfulness in our relationship, something we had been missing for years. At a certain point, he confessed his mistakes in not being present and sought my pardon. I told him not to worry about it; I had always had this belief that this moment of forgiveness would come.

By six months, I had the feeling of a woman in labor. I was put on the drip for days in the hospital. When I was discharged, I was told not to lift anything heavy or perform activities that would cause fatigue, which I had already been doing. I obeyed the doctors, but Isaiah was impatient, he came two weeks before his due date.

He was small in stature but had a lot of strength. My husband was next to me, but he was shy and did not want to see the child. The doctors took the baby to the morgue, and in some hours, I was informed that he was dead. The corpse, which was given to me afterwards, did not look similar to my baby. I kept telling my husband, “Examine it well; the nurses are not telling the truth. This is not Isaiah.”

The situation was unbearable for me, and I was crying and shouting at the same time, “Before I turn this into a police case, you better bring my son back! What do you mean?” My husband wrapped his arms around me, telling me to get a hold of myself. At that point, my mother had come and my husband’s family was on their way. I was convinced that once they got there, I would have my baby back.

Later on, my husband said to me, “It’s Isaiah. They’re not telling the truth.”

I screamed, “What was the price they paid you? What was the price for your conscience?” It was a long process before I could get calm again. I still think that I have not seen my child. My husband believes that my sadness over the loss distorted my perception. I think he has not been through the same suffering, thus, he does not understand.

I was afraid of losing my marriage once more. Ultimately, I was scared that I would never be a mother and that my dream of motherhood was gone. I underwent therapy with my husband ever-present. I would leave for work and return only to find out that he had made dinner for me. If I complained about being tired, he would start giving me a foot massage. His new care reminded me of the time when the nurses not only took Isaiah but also replaced my husband.

Once, I opened the door of the bathroom, and there he was crying on the toilet seat with his head in his hands. He was mourning a lot, but I had thought he was just being strong for me. I tried to console him, but I ended up crying more. I hope that no couple ever has to go through the death of a child.

The transformation in my husband was a result of his pain. He remained close and performed little acts of kindness for me, not only because he had to, but because he was also feeling lonely and needed my support in our unsaid mourning. I was his power, the same way he was mine. Eventually, we went to a therapist for couples therapy for a few months.

Just when we were about to give up, a new pregnancy silently came through. In this case, it was not loud or noisy; it was soft like a child sneaking. Having had a miscarriage, we were very cautious this time and let go of our dreams. We did not think of names, did not find out the sex, and did not buy anything. I took my vitamins and folic acid and concentrated on my health.

A girl was born to us. When I asked my husband for his choice of name, he replied, “Joy. Joy has come to stay.”

Then a boy came, and another boy followed, and then a girl after that. There are now four kids in our family. Truly, joy has come to stay, and I owe it to my husband for being a rock during my darkest hour, for understanding the situation, even when I accused him of being weak.

Isaiah is still in our minds. We celebrate and mark his birthday every year, reminding us of our journey, the times when we almost lost everything and a child who came to revive what was lost. This memory is precious to us so that we will not take what we have for granted.

—Odelia

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