Saturday, January 31, 2015

The Rose Bush

Growing along a garden gate was a beautiful bush of yellow roses. Every day was sunny and beautiful, and the rose bush blossomed.

As the days passed, she grew big and beautiful delighting in the joy she brought to the people who walked by her gate. The perfume from her yellow buds swept through the neighborhood on the afternoon breeze coaxing smiles from even those of a melancholy nature. Her spirit was optimistic and saw the positive even in a rainy day.

After a time the rose bush became too overgrown. Her limbs heavy with her beautiful buds and their delightful fragrance. But also those shrewd thorns that snag unwary fingers.

So as the afternoon began to wane, the Gardener brought out His pruning shears and began to cut away some of the growth.

The rose bush wept for her lost limbs, the beautiful buds and even those shrewd thorns. For they had been part of her.

As He worked the Gardener whispered in her ear, "Shhh, my beautiful rose bush. Be brave. For though the pain is sharp right now, one day this pain will make you stronger and more beautiful than ever."

The moon began to climb across the sky when He finished and left her in the night air with the pieces of her scattered at her feet and her heart broken. While the crickets chirped their part of the night symphony, she mourned what she had just lost, feeling every missing leaf and thorn so keenly that it was hard to breathe.

When the symphony finished and dawn began to break along the horizon, the rose bush thought about what the Gardener had said and what He had promised. With the first rays of the morning sun warming what was left of her, she began to hope.

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I wrote the above story when my husband and I were struggling to get pregnant with our first child three years ago. It was my way of expressing the pain and frustration I felt without explicitly saying what was happening. Infertility is a sensitive subject. At the time I didn’t want to share with anyone outside my husband and immediate family what we were going through. Partly because I didn’t want to broadcast that we were trying to get pregnant. Despite how easy it is to share everything in our lives these days, not everything is meant to be shared with everyone.

Writing has always been my catharsis. Whenever I’m experiencing a particularly difficult time, I find I work through my emotions best when I write about them. It can come in the form of poetry, short story, or letter. Sometimes, I learn about feelings I didn’t realize I had. It doesn’t always happen right away, but eventually I will feel better and have more clarity on my situation.

Shortly after I published the above story on my blog, we were told our chances of conceiving on our own were 25% at best. (Compared to the 85% chance couples without infertility problems have.) We started to make plans with a fertility specialist. And then we found out I was pregnant. Our daughter is now almost two, and I’m pregnant with our second child (due in July). Life is good.

If you want to connect, find me on Twitter (@beckymochaface).

Becky Schroeder
bschroeder[AT]getitc.com
Dallas, Texas

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