I remember expecting a child that never came, a child I never held in my arms. I remember expecting a child who would have his father's hair, his kind eyes. He would be curious of the world and I would follow closely all the things he would see with enchanted eyes. Everything would be new for his new eyes. Those were the words of a song about someone else's child, a song I used to listen to while waiting for this child. I remember dreaming of his future, of his smiles. I remember my hopes for him. He did not want me, this child. He did not stay.
He was not interested in the playground in front of the building we live. He was not interested in having my hand holding his while he walked his first steps. He did not care about the flowers, leaves, little dry sticks that fall from the trees in our neighbourhood. He did not want to listen to the slightly out of tune lullabies I was going to sing or the stories I would read at bedtime. He did not even care for the milk, all the milk that was already there for him. The milk a pill helped to dry. The milk that spurted from my breasts, months later, in a bad dream. All the plans, all the dreams, all the love I had for him were not enough to make him stay.
I almost died trying to bring this child to the world, but that did not move him to stay either. I survived, amazingly. I am here. I've seen other children coming to the world. I've seen them wanting to stay. I've been cast aside by some women. Stained, marked, I became, because my child did not want to stay.
Doubly punished as bare, incapable and unwelcome. I took it with bewildered sadness, but I survived. I've seen other expected children hesitant to come. I've seen so many lies being told by women who were terrified of being marked bare, dry, incapable. I've seen their lies hurting them, hurting others who would walk their same path later, alone, cast aside, unwelcome.
But there were also the children who stayed. I welcomed them. I look at them with happiness. I watch them grow with love. But, occasionally, I do remember. Who would not? I remember there was once a child, my child, and he did not stay. He did not want to stay.
I chose to walk other paths. I chose to build a different castle from the pieces of the one that fell apart. It took time, a great deal of time, but I think it is a solid beautiful castle. I chose life and left the rest in the past. I think I did the right thing. I am a happy person today, I'd say. I live quite a happy life.
Still, I know what you feel when your child does not want to stay. "Life sucks!", at times. "Tough luck", deal with it. "Shit happens!" Anyway... The best you can do is learn something from it, if you can, when you can, the best you can. Something that will broaden the way you see the world and other's suffering. You try. It works, usually. When it doesn't just make you more impatient with the pettiness of life. I try, myself, and it works, mostly. Still, it comes back to me, at times. It comes to me when there is loss and separation, when life does not give me choice. It surprises me, and it hurts, the fact, the pain, that this child, my first child, did not want to stay.