Monday, March 27, 2006

The void

Recently, a close friend sent me a snippet of a home video from their childhood. Their family sat together at the table, the children laughing, wiggling in their seats. The closeness and intimacy was palpable. I could have reached out and touched it, it was so real. And as moving as it was, I felt intrusive, as if I had no right to watch. I've never had that intimacy... that overwhelming love, that closeness. The tears stung hot and heavy.

Over dinner this weekend, I was engrossed into a conversation about why I want children. Why more than being a good attorney, being a good friend - or wife, I've always wanted at the very core of my being to be remembered as a good mom. Oh sure, there's the argument that it would be a pity not to pass my wickedly amazing good looks or bizarre sense of humor on to another generation. (And that's a joke, seriously - though I was a pretty cute kid if I do say so myself). And hey, with hips like these, it seems almost a waste not to use them to balance a child on. And true, I'd like for someone to take care of me in my old age, but I suppose I could afford to hire someone out for that if need be. But it's honestly, for the everyday small simple reasons. It's for the memories of kissed skinned knees, of crayon scrawled puppies on the 'frig. It's for the sound of a baby's laughter gurgling through the house. It's for first baths, first steps, first school days, first loves. It's for the sweet warm scent of a baby's head. The sight of a tiny hand reaching to me for comfort. It's about a need to feel as if I can make the world a better place, if only through my own children. It's about teaching someone about love, about life, about happiness. About living, loving with my heart outside of my body.

It's about passing down stories and pieces of my family. Of Granny's fiery redheaded temper. Of Emma (my other great grandmother's) broad Native American cheekbones and my father's quirky facial expressions. It's about my freakishly long toes, my laugh. It's about having a home... being willing to give up everything, including my own life for another. It's about all of that, and more.

Akeeyu posted something so moving back in November of 2004 that it has always remained with me, since... tugging at my heart. Go on, read it. I'll wait. That's why. Because I have a history, and my fear will be that there will be no one to listen. No one to pass it along to.

As of late, I am full of fear that this void will never be filled. That I will never have the chance to say any of this - the most heartwrenching post I've ever written, and the one that has always stayed with me. That I will always want for this intimacy that others have... and it's breaking my heart.

5 Comments:

At 5:00 PM, Blogger Shinny said...

April,
Tertia wrote something similar a couple months ago, she named it Mommy Love. It is so true, how the little things mean so much and to be able to pass on our names or genes or memories or whatever.

It will happen for us, it must, I demand it and we all know that only children always get their way, right? ;)

That was beautifully written, you are so good. How is the flower garden doing? Still waiting for mine to thaw out.

 
At 2:39 AM, Blogger K said...

There aren't enough words for all the things I feel the world is deprived of because Mark and I have no children. I don't even care if that sounds selfish. I'm so sorry you have to feel this way too.

 
At 7:42 AM, Anonymous thalia said...

I agree with you, it hurts to not be able to pass on all those things I just assumed I would - I've written about it too - the stories about our family arriving in england in 1692, the seder nights, the way to make a victoria sponge cake.

It's all terribly egotistical, but there you go, at least we've thought about it - many others haven't.

It's not nearly the end for you yet, don't give up.

 
At 10:31 AM, Blogger Stephanie said...

sniff, sniff. great post.

for me, i think of my parents. i want to be able to have a child sooner than later, so that s/he will know who my parents are.

 
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