yet

Being a first grade teacher, I have a million different activities up my sleeve. One that I have been doing on a weekly basis since the start of this school year is called "Dear Mrs. C." I am a penpal with every student in my class. They each have a special notebook in which they write letters to me and I write letters back. They ask me questions and I answer them. I always tell them the truth.

How old are you? 31
What is your favorite food? pizza
When is your birthday? July 22

Do you have any children?

And there it is. The question I dread. The one that catches my breath and breaks my heart every time. The first time I get this question is on the actual day of my d&c. I'm not at school, of course, but there it is sitting on my desk waiting for me when I return -- with my d&c date right at the top of it.

Dear Mrs. C.,
I like school. I like you. I missed you today. Where were you? Do you have any children?
Love,
P.J.

It was almost as if he knew. How can I answer? I hate getting that question from anybody but there is an added element when it comes from a child. An element of innocence. And assumption. I am an adult. I am a woman. I am married. Of course I must have children, right? Or at least plans for one, right? And if not, then why not? I stare at the innocence in his letter. It pulls at me. How can I match it and still tell him the truth? There is nothing innocent about this truth.

Dear P.J.,
I almost had a child. I wanted to have a child. I started to have a child but it died just as you were writing me this letter. I was at the hospital and actually the doctor had to kill it. She had to stick a vacuum inside of me and suck that life right out of me. I am glad you like school.
Love,
Mrs. C

I close the notebook and put it aside. I take a deep breath. Of all the questions I've ever been asked (and I've been asked a lot) this is my hardest to answer.

It's because I hate having to answer it for myself.

Dear P.J.,
I don't have any children yet.
Love,
Mrs. C

Yet. For such a small simple word, it sure has a lot sitting on it. It carries enough hope to fill the ocean. And it softens even the hardest of truths. I remember this word from my pre-husband days. There was another question I used to hate just as much.

Why are you still single?

What a slap in the face. Don't you think if I knew that I would fix it! My answer never wavered, though.

I haven't met the right person yet.

Yet. I still panic every time I use that word. Does there come a time when you have to drop it from the end of your sentence? A time when your answer becomes final? How do I know if my yet will ever happen? It worked out for me in the husband department but how do I know I will get that lucky in the baby department? Yet is filled with doubt. Uncertainty.

But within this uncertainty comes the hope. It's not certain that I will have children. But it's not certain that I won't either. Inside "yet" lies my faith, my energy, my dreams. "Yet" is that rope I'm hanging on to for dear life. Only three little letters but it makes all the difference between hopeless and hopeful. Only three little letters but its power is immeasurable.

I think I know what word I'm adding to my spelling test next week.