Have you ever met a guy, and almost immediately realized that he is perfect dad material? You know the type, kind and patient... able to make friends with anyone. The guy that kids adore, yet totally respect at the same time. He’s the epitome of what makes a great father.

That guy is sooo my husband. For real. He’s even got the dad jokes down.

It’s a big reason why, when he asked me to marry him, I said yes. We both wanted a family.

The first miscarriage was hard for us, but we were still hopeful.

The second was a lot harder.

The barrage of medical exams, ultrasounds, and tests were almost impossible.

And now, I sit here... knowing, deep down, that even though we love each other so much... sometimes that is not enough. The guilt is real. I can forgive myself for not being able to have children. I know that isn’t my fault. But, I could never forgive myself for being the reason he never has children. Depriving him of that joy is some I can’t bare. He deserves that happiness.

I mourned my first baby. I mourned my second. I mourned my fertility and dreams of a family. And now I need to muster the courage to mourn my marriage.