Claire
I have been many things at Birmingham airport. Pissed and reflective. Sad and angry. Suicidal and redemptive.
Every airport is a strange place. Hopes and dreams can start here. There is sadness. Today I watch an older lady in a beautiful sari being whipped through the fast-track queue in a wheelchair. Is she crying because she is in pain? Is she desperately sad because this is her first visit abroad without her beloved husband? Is she going to India for a funeral? I will never know.
But I see her tears. And I feel them. I feel them in the times that I’ve sat in a toilet cubicle in departures and lamented the weirdness of my life. The barrenness of my body. And the need to keep motoring on. The energy required to keep a normal facade whilst gently crumpling underneath.
And what of that softly decimated interior? Is it possible to re build?
The short answer is a hopeful yes. The longer answer is more nuanced and needs enquiry.
Is it necessary to have a story; to understand the narrative of your life to date? For me, yes it absolutely is.
It is important for me to show myself. To tell you my story. To perhaps let you know that you are not alone.
I thought I would have time. Like my mother. Like both my grandmothers. All bearers of late babies. Babies in your thirties and forties.
I think back to being thirty five. I felt young and fertile. Ha! I didn’t know that my fertility had fallen off a cliff. No need to seek help.
No urgency to address the hugest of elephants. Who to tell that any attempt at penetrative sex was agonising to the point of vomiting? How to tell my lovely partner despite his acceptance of my reluctance that we needed help to move forward?
So, there it is. In the proverbial nutshell. My story of childlessness. Ignorance. Fear. Inaction.
And what now? How do I move forward? What do we do when there is a desperate need to mother? To be a parent.
I accept that the mothering instinct is strong for me. I mother my family, my friends, my pets and my colleagues. I will not change. Why should I?
In my heart and soul I felt and feel a strong connection to a wee entity.
I care not that it sounds a bit mad. She has a name. Zoe Violet. Zoe because I’ve always loved the vibrancy of that name. Violet because that’s my mum’s name and that’s a whole different story.
I see her as a beautiful green, pink and gold egg. She was in me and with me. I released her with love and honour her.
I am a childless mother.
My child is in my dreams.
If this is you, please know that this doesn’t make you deluded.
To love with hope is pure.
To love in the knowledge that what you want is beyond your reach is courageous.
