A mourning of not becoming a mother
A poem "My Sweet Audrine" and mourning not having children
Dear hopeful reader,
When my grandmother died last March, not only was I grieving my dear бабуля, but my whole worldview shifted. Things that once mattered became insignificant in comparison. I thought a lot about life and death—something I didn’t think of much before—and I can’t stop, most days. And regrets. One of my regrets is not becoming a mother.
I used to think I chose to be child-free. Like I had agency over that decision. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. What kind of a choice is it when I’m chronically ill, and some days I can barely take care of myself? There are chronically ill folks who are parents. They’re superheroes. The challenges they go through physically and mentally every day, and to also support children. I’m in awe of them.
I want to imagine that for me someday, when I’ll be stronger, if I’ll be stronger. I keep reading these inspiring stories of people becoming parents in their 40s, approaching 50. But I can’t imagine giving birth when I’m so vulnerable right now at almost 34, and will be even more with the passage of time. And I can’t imagine adopting, when the costs are so nonsensically high. There’s so many precious babies and children in need of home, and so many willing individuals and couples wanting to give them that home. But they can’t.
And I can’t. Not now. Maybe someday. For now all I have is an eight-year-old poem, and hope. Life can be full of marvels and miracles.
My Sweet Audrine
My sweet Audrine,
I see you with my eyes closed.
In the blackness of my mind,
Your rosy gentle face appears.
My heart flutters with so much joy
And my belly fills with inborn love
For you, oh, my precious dear.
Such wondrous eyes you have
With thick lashes flapping like butterflies.
Your smile is genuine and far and wide,
Laughing with pure delight at life.
Your tiny little hands, so soft,
Yet, know no boundary of your affection.
Your aura brings a little heaven to this world.
Oh, but I must protect you, child;
The world today is Janus-faced.
But, I love and need you so already!
The seed is yet to plant inside me.
So I have time to plan my guidance.
To teach you to be strong,
But remain noble still the same.
I won’t ask you to share your regrets. But if you wish to share something and have a heart-to-heart conversation, I’m here.
Yours hopefully,
Nadia
I know a number of women who waited to have children but then had trouble conceiving. For some, it took them years, and for others, it didn’t work at all. Lots of grief. I hope you’re doing okay. It was a really nice poem
It is understandable to want to be a mother but there is still time to accomplish that. I know a woman who gave birth at 37 to a very healthy little girl. So life happens, it can still come when you least expect it.