Disappearing…

“What if I was to disappear, get in an accident and not make it, fall off the face of the earth? I wouldn’t be disappointed, I wouldn’t care.”

Those were the thoughts I had. It’s not that I want to hurt myself; I just want to “go away”. If I go, then the pain would be gone…at least that is the emotional thought. The rational thought is that the pain just comes with me. I know this, I know running away doesn’t work, but I feel like there would be less pain if I could just stop being. Imagine a life without the pain of not having children, of not being constantly reminded of what I am missing, of the fact that I could very well have no one to be with me or care for me in my golden years. Imagine a life without missing those you love, the ones who have left too soon, walked out, or just disappeared themselves. Imagine a life without dealing with all the misery and tragedy in peoples’ lives, hearing the sounds of struggle, the cries of pain. Imagine a life without all the responsibility, of being the strong one, of not being able to ask for help when I need it. I long for the day when the emotional rollercoaster levels out, and life becomes easier, more stable, less…hard.

But…imagine a life without the pain to remind you of when times are good, a life without tears of sadness to make you grateful for the moments of joy. Imagine a life where you are constantly grateful for the people you do have in your life, because you know what it’s like not to have the ones who aren’t.

On the days when it is all too much, maybe I can just disappear…for a little bit. Take some time to escape and get away from all that weighs heavy on my mind and heart. I may not be able to take the time when I need it, but I will do it when I can. On the days I can’t get away, I must muster all my strength, swallow my pride, and trust enough to be able to pick up the phone to reach out and ask for help. To find the person who will just listen, who will hold my hand when I cry, who will remind me that I don’t need to disappear; they see me, in all my weakness and pain and they care…in that moment I am visible.

Pregnant Pause

These thoughts have been with me for a while now, and I have come to accept them as a part of who I am. There is no malice in these words, there is no anger; there is only an occasional sadness.

As I get a bit older each year - to be honest, I go through this each month -  I struggle with the fact that I don't have kids. It's not that I don't want them, or that I don't think I deserve them, or even that I don't think I can't have them (in spite of what various doctors have told me). Rather, it's about the fact that I may not ever have kids. I still hold out hope, and I still plan for that eventuality, but there is also the realistic and pragmatic view that I am getting older! As each birthday passes, and I do the mental math - if I were to get pregnant now, I would be (shudder) ?? years old when my child graduates high school - I wonder if it would be a good idea if I were to have a child now. And then my stubborn and optimistic side rears its ever present head and yells, "Hell ya!!"

I look at my friends, the majority of whom are younger than I, and they are starting families or have young ones, and I revel in their triumphs and sympathize with their trials, but mostly I am envious of it all. I would like that to be me going through all that they are going through - the good, the bad, and the terrible twos. I would like to be someone who can pass on all that I have learned, so far, to my progeny so that they don't make some of the mistakes that I did. But even if they do, I want to be there with them to say, "well that was fun!!", and help them get back up and move forever forward with their life.

Then I start thinking about my legacy - what is my legacy?? I was reminded, when I asked for a family heirloom be passed on to me, that I won't have anyone to pass it along to. That was a very sad thought. Who am I going to pass my special things on to? I have a neice and nephew, and little cousins, but are they going to appreciate something that was special to me? Are they going to understand why it is special when they don't really know me and what I am all about? I also get frightened when I think of the days, far into the future, when I may be old and alone. These future rememberances make me wonder who it is that will be there in my twilight years.

There is so much of one's persona linked to being a parent that I can't help but wonder if I will ever feel complete, if the one thing that I've always wanted to be, may never be a part of who I am.