(this post was written yesterday and posted to patreon as an early-access blog post)
it’s mother’s day and i’m sad.
i’m not sad for the reasons a lot of people are sad on mother’s day, the reasons i’m sad on father’s day. i’m lucky with my moms. the woman who birthed and raised me is amazing, and the woman who welcomed me into her family when i married her son is also amazing.
i’m supremely lucky with moms.
lucky with female role models in general. i was raised by a buddhist mom with an aunt in the goddess movement. while in adult life my relationship with the goddess movement is…fraught; i’d say being raised in it did me good, overall.
i’m sad because for several years now, i’ve hoped that this mother’s day would be mine too.
and it hasn’t, so far.
children have always been a definitely for me.
since i was little, when i envisioned my future, it always held kids. or grandkids, if i was envisioning the feisty old crone i’ll eventually be.
i have never questioned whether or not i want to be a parent.
i have always known that if i do not get the chance to be a parent, it will absolutely break my heart.
my husband and i were married four and a half years ago. we were emotionally ready for kids then.
we’ve continued to be emotionally ready for kids.
the first year of marriage is hard when you are ready for kids emotionally, but not financially, spatially, physically.
people constantly ask “so when are you having babies?”
and you have to choke back tears and say, “when is the vancouver housing crisis going to be over?”
millennials are choosing not to have kids the headlines proclaim.
as if being too poor for there to be a choice means you have any agency at all.
sometimes i wish for things that are impossible.
i wish i’d found my husband earlier in my life.
i wish i hadn’t bankrupted myself flying between hawai’i and canada for a doomed relationship with my first boyfriend.
i wish i hadn’t spent so fucking long getting my bachelor’s.
i wish i’d been smarter when i was younger, when it was my right to be as stupid as i wanted to be.
but this year is different.
i’ve cried today. it was a short burst of rainfall, a short outpouring of grief over my not being a mother yet. my mother cried with me, because she wants so desperately for me to be able to have my dream as well.
i’m grateful i’m not a mother yet.
because we were wrong about the coronavirus not affecting children badly, it seems. there’s more and more news coming out that it can be dangerous for young kids.
and i think about how terrified i already am for my niece and nephew. i think about magnifying that terror times 100, 1,000, 1,000,000.
it would kill me, probably.
i’m alive. my husband is alive. my mother is alive, despite the world trying its darnedest to kill her.
(she’s writing a memoir right now called Time 28, written from the point of view of someone else in her life for each of the times she’s almost died. it was originally called Time 15 but then she realized there were a lot more close calls than she remembered.)
despite everything, life is good. there is still so much i’m missing but i am on the road to getting it. and we are safe, for now.
i have to be grateful for that.
so i am giving thanks to the gods, and continuing on my path. and praying and doing magic and all those things.
and writing. gods above, am i writing now. my art was ready to burst forth. i just needed to let it.
and i’m believing. i’m believing in the future.
i believe a year from now we’ll have a vaccine.
i believe a year from now, i’ll be a mother. (whether or not the baby has moved out of their first apartment.)
i believe this pandemic is going to teach us how to make a better world. and i believe we’re going to create it.
i believe i’m going to help.
and i believe i’m going to be able to raise my children in that better world.
i believe things will work out…so long as you live long enough to let them.
i love you.