You don’t know all that, and you still sent over flowers to show that you’re happy for me
I’M writing this letter to thank you for the flowers you sent me for Shabbos. You were so happy when I shared with you that I’m expecting. You know my daughter is seven years old, so it’s a big simchah.
But you don’t know what an enormous simchah it is, or how much your gesture meant to me.
You don’t know that I went through five years of incredibly difficult treatments. You don’t know that I suffered month after month, my hopes rising and dashing like the numbers in my blood counts.
You don’t know how many treatments I had to endure, how many hospital visits and blood tests and ultrasounds I’ve done. I’d run to work feeling like I’d already been through a full day and paste on a smile, only to hear everyone complaining how hard it was to get all the kids out to school.
You don’t know about the infection I contracted from one of the treatments. It made me so sick, it took me weeks to recover.
You don’t know that while I always looked good, always smiling, always fine, inside I was crying. All around me, people were having baby after baby, and I remained empty-handed.
You don’t know that I had such an incredibly hard time having only one child at home. It was so painful to watch her invite over friend after friend and have them refuse because they were busy playing with their siblings. My daughter would be home alone, begging for someone to play with.
You don’t know how much it stabbed me, when my daughter came to me crying time and again, wondering why everyone else has sisters and brothers and only she doesn’t.
You don’t know that I had to work so, so hard on my bitachon. That I worked to grow with my challenge, to strengthen my belief in Hashem’s salvation, to trust that it would happen, even though everything looked so bleak.
You don’t know, because I couldn’t share my pain — it’s such a private topic — but I was constantly battling sadness.
You don’t know all that, and you still sent over flowers to show that you’re happy for me. And for that I’m eternally grateful.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 802)
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