There is a deep well at the end of my garden
It is full of sadness
I don’t go down to it very often nowadays
Not least because at the bottom it is full of babies
The two miscarriages, one early, one too late for my liking
The one that was only three days old
Then there are the two terminations when I was too young to know better
Can you see why I avoid it?
It is always there of course
It doesn’t ever move
Just sits there like a lumpen piece of lead
Ready to drag me down
Especially on Mother’s Day
And sometimes when friends became mothers
And Sometimes when they then become grandmothers
It is hard…..sometimes.
It is also easier….sometimes
When a son or daughter becomes an addict
When they are foul to their mums
When they cause heartache and worry as they can do
I don’t wish Mothers any of this grief
But I can say, I’m grateful I do not have to deal with those sorrows
You can do what you want some mothers say.
I can see they have envied my freedoms
I can tell some of them resent the myriads of pounds their child has cost them
Whilst I, swan off to Costa Rica, Bali or go on Safari
Kids are expensive but that’s the price to pay
I have spent a small fortune on grief therapy
Did it help, hell yeah, was it gruelling, hell yeah.
Life is so family centric and Aunts don’t hold much sway
Where is Aunties Day you may well ask, though you probably don’t.
Don’t get me wrong I have a life
I have lived a life, just not as a mother
Though over the years it’s felt like I’ve done plenty of mothering
Mainly to the men in my life or my courageous clients
I’ve been allowed to sleep late, go to bed later
Do what the heck I want, when I want
But I’ve never held MY child in MY arms
I know the sorrow of that and sometimes
I wish I had.
So please be mindful when you tell me endless stories of your children
I will sit and share your joys and I will listen….. sometimes
Please don’t turn away when you ask me if I have children and I say no
As if not being a mother means I don’t count.
I don’t ask nor want pity
I no longer weep long wet tears, short dry ones… sometimes
I do ask for recognition that women who are not mothers
Are equally important, equally valid
And sometimes justas loving as any woman who became a mother.
I know I have a lot of love in my heart
evident to all when I had Kismet, tortoise shell cat
I felt the joy, the wanting to be there for her
17 years of pure love.
Crazy cat woman as we are known
Crazy dog man, not such a thing, is it?
Believe me when I say I am no less, no more than any mother.
But for me not being a mother is a part of my story, my life
World, I accept that now, will you?
Carol Scott
Photo: Ankit Wat in Cambodia