One for Posterity?

I am thinking now of children – awkwardly, with an unfamiliar longing – wondering if I’ll ever be a mother.

I’ve never been one of those women who “want children” – have not been the type to instinctively covet the beauty of a crinkled newborn child. So this longing is not something I feel often – though when I do, it’s with a disquieting vagueness: a crucial riddle that I can’t yet solve.

It’s been six weeks since my partner left, and I miss the things I loved most about him – the qualities that also made him my closest friend: his humour, intelligence, tenderness, and musicality… his passion for dance… and the often-fearless way he flung himself at love. I understand why I miss those things, so I can acknowledge their worth and grieve their loss.

But there’s something else I’ve lost that disturbs me – precisely because I don’t understand; I’ve lost a man who loved children and wanted kids of his own.

Logically, this shouldn’t bother me – not me, who has always been content to envision a childless existence – not me, with so many dimensions of meaning in my life (so many a child would hinder).

Intuitively, though, I mourn the loss of this potential. I so deeply value the unconditional love my dad has given me – and some peculiar part of me sees this and naively hopes that with the right spouse, under decent circumstances, I could accord this profound acceptance on a child of my own…

Yes… Six weeks have passed since my partner left.

I’m laughing and healing and often quite happy – but fuck, what a harrowing loss.