"Today at the park, I met an elderly lady, perhaps in her 70s. We struck up a conversation, and I found myself drawn to her warmth and eagerness to connect. She mentioned her affiliation with the Brahma Kumaris and shared some insights about their teachings.
In turn, she inquired about my life and family. I answered honestly, but the conversation took an unexpected turn when she suggested I have another child. This isn't the first time I've encountered this advice. My old friends make similar suggestions.A former colleague made a similar suggestion, after I shared a quote about the unique qualities of daughters.
"Every family deserves a daughter who has her father's temper, mother's attitude. Does not like being said what to do and loves too hard."
The quote resonated with me deeply, but the underlying reality is that I cannot share what I went through to have my son. These well-intentioned inquiries, while natural and a common way to build rapport, can be incredibly painful. It's a private sorrow, a longing that exists silently within me.
I understand that people are simply curious, but these questions often stir up a deep sense of loss and disappointment. While I try to respond politely and truthfully, there are no easy answers, and the pain remains.
It feels like sharing some truths, like a heart attack, would be so much easier. People readily share diagnoses of serious illnesses like cancer, almost as if they've achieved something extraordinary. Yet, we shy away from discussing relationship struggles or fertility challenges. Perhaps it's a uniquely modern burden, a future I've been forced to confront.
I know many others who've walked this path, who've accepted this as their fate. It sometimes makes me question my past deeds. I wonder if my current suffering is a consequence of actions in a previous life. I see injustice prevail, criminals escaping punishment, and I question why I, who strives to be good, must endure this. Do I, too, exist merely as an afterthought?"
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