The dreams I had as a young bride, in 1958,
were simple ones;
I wanted an apartment of our own,
Not two rooms downstairs from my husband’s mother;
And, I wanted to have a baby…
Why the latter was so important just then,
I can’t say except that
all of my girlfriends were getting married
and having babies.
The first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage,
and I learned a cold, hard lesson
while laying on a hospital bed,
When I begged my husband to come to the hospital
he refused, saying
He had to get up early to go to work
in the morning.
I cried, then, for my mother,
but would not call her to come.
A nurse sat by the bed
and held my hand
until I fell asleep.
Soon, I was pregnant again,
and in 1960, my son Michael was born
and I learned another cold hard lesson;
My husband’s mother and sister
took control of the baby.
He was never to be my baby.
I returned to work when Michael was
three months old,
leaving him to the care of his father,
grandmother, and aunt.
I think many of my dreams
were shattered in those first
two years of marriage.
Why, then, persevere?
When Michael was a y ear old,
We drove to California
And my dream, then, was
that my husband would grow up–
and perhaps to some degree, he did,
but his mother came to spend months
with us and
in 1962 I had another miscarriage.
Truthfully, I didn’t feel sorry for myself.
Not then, not now. They were just dreams
and oftentimes, dreams don’t come true
or dreams are shattered.
I may have learned it isn’t wise
to dream too much,
or have any great expectations.
Sandra Lee Smith
written January 2010