Mourning the Unborn
Desires don’t always meet their destiny — could that be the greatest tragedy of life?
In the now, it sure feels like it.
Could there be many parallel lives unfolding as we exist, where those desires do get to play out?
Versions of you living the current longing, the quiet begging, the desperate negotiating with God — even as you know, deep down, that the version you so desperately want will not come to pass.
Not as is.
Sadly.
The unseen is out there.
But who truly knows how it all unfolds?
Only time will tell.
Frozen in time, you see a younger version of yourself — wishing, dreaming, enduring all the trials and tribulations — the pain, the literal blood, sweat, and tears — for something your heart wanted more than anything. You almost got it. The ideation, the seed, was there — you were holding it in your arms. And yet, it was slipping away.
You grasped for it desperately because you couldn’t bear to look back at how far you'd come — how fiercely you protected it, how deeply you had yearned and prayed for this one thing. You had it. You made it — and then, God said NO.
Or maybe, not yet.
But it’s a request for yet another release.
And you're forced to give it back.
Bury the seed.
It feels like one big, cruel joke.
It’s hard not to feel stifled with God.
How does one go from praying for the seed to take root in the future, to being asked to discard it in the present? It’s dizzying. You still see yourself growing with it — it’s your hope — but now, you're standing in front of a blank, unknowable path covered in guilt. The decision doesn’t feel like yours to make, and yet somehow, it is.
It’s a trick question, isn’t it?
To keep or to let go?
How do you possibly release the very thing you’ve been praying for?
The left brain and right brain begin an exhausting, unbelievable attempt to console each other.
Does that mean it might come back — in another form, in a better way?
Or is this… it? Never to be?
There’s immense grief in turning the page.
The realization that there are many kinds of loss.
Losses like this come tangled in rage — rage that the burden is yours alone, even if you never planted the seed by yourself. How is it that some can walk away so easily, never glancing back, while others are left to pick up and discard the broken pieces — including the most fragile and valuable of them all?
Because it was solely yours.
The hope, the energy, the intention — you were the creator.
And now, you are the destroyer.
So maybe this is what love really is — a complex net of sorrow, guilt, and surrender all intertwined.
The desire itself was born out of love. The seed was just a symbol — a placeholder for hope, for meaning, for joy, for life itself…. for what was to come.
Death comes in many forms.
An answer will come. A movement will unfold. It always does.
The weight of certainty will not exist in the now, so you won’t know if it was the right or wrong decision — but someday, for your sake, I hope you find out how the puzzle fit.
But it doesn’t make this moment easier.
As always, time keeps ticking.
The world will never understand how someone’s heart can break so loudly, yet silently.
No one will hear it shatter.
No one will witness the grief bleed.
I suppose some things remain frozen in worlds we cannot see.
The unborn stays unborn.
And with it, it takes all the joy, hope, and life it could have brought.
This grief is tangled, layered, impossible to fully explain.
But it was always love.
And love it will carry with it — wherever it goes.
Maybe in another life.
Maybe in one of those parallel worlds, it is born.
And it is alive.
Peace & Grace.
Until next time.
With love,
Rani
