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