A letter to my spirit children
I see your children. Their beautiful blonde curls and their long eyelashes. Their dark, thick ponytails and their blue eyes. I see them, elbow deep in Easter egg dye and chocolate smears over giant smiles. I see them, through you. Your love, your frustration your joy. I cry when you cry for them, and want to wrap my arms around you, around them when life seems so unfairly cruel. I laugh when you laugh with them and wish to breathe in your happiness like the neroli-scented air of spring.
I try to stuff down my envy, my emptiness and the hollow, heart-shaped box of sorrow that resides in my chest. It echoes the ticking clock of my body as I watch motherhood happen all around me, but not within me. Childless in Bloglandia. An empty womb, a vessel devoid of her purpose.
When I tell people I have a blog, I am always met with this question “so, you’re like a mommy blogger?”
“No,” I say, swallowing a small lump, “I am not a mother.”
No, I am not a mother.
I never wanted to have children. Even though, if you asked anyone who has known me for any length of time, they would tell you I have a nurturer’s heart. I am forever mothering those who have lacked. The old lady who lived in the shoe, a scattered collection of wounded hearts, entwined around me like vines of ivy. Their tendrils holding my bricks together. All the while knowing, that my mothering instinct would just never be enough for a child. So, as is my way when things are too heart breaking for me to process, I gave up.
Then I met him. His love has changed everything. I see our children in every possibility, every story you all tell of triumph or of tragedy. I follow the trail of crumbs that your children leave, grasping up every morsel. The eternal aunt. As I watch my health waiver back and forth between glowing and dire, I see my own motherhood slip through my grasp and I mourn the thought of little spirit children. Souls waiting to be born to me who will never be. They will never hear my voice, but I hope they can hear my words.
Beautiful spirits,
I am sorry this life will pass without us seeing our love come to fruition. I feel that I am leaving you in safekeeping. I just wish the hands that guide you in this life would be mine.
But I am not strong enough.
I can see you, in my mind’s eye. You would have dainty hands like mine, a perfect nose like your father. You would be smart, you would be funny. You would be a royal pain in the ass because you of your brains and your humor. I miss you, already. I miss the possibility of you. I wish for nothing more than to bring you into the world and see you healthy and well. I am not either of those things.
I will never see you write your first words or call me mama or watch you pet your dog-sister. I will never teach you how to be gentle with her and not pull her ears. I will never teach you how to swim in our backyard pool among the flowering plants and the blistering heat. I will never be able to pawn off all of the household chores that I hate to do.
I will never hold your hands.
But your potential, I lock in my ribcage and hope that in my next life I am good enough to flesh you out. Until that time, watch over me and fill me with your spirit.
Love,
The girl who would be your mother
April 4th, 2010 at 10:02 pm
I can’t explain how much this spoke to me right now. I know your reasons are different, but the emotion is the same. I want to hug you and cry and just talk. And maybe rub Ella’s belly.
April 5th, 2010 at 12:38 am
Your pain breaks my heart, a big punch to the gut. I wish I could say something that would bring you comfort, but I do not know what is in your heart and mind, well enough to do you any justice. I know I do not know all of the reasons that have brought you to your choice to not have children, so it would not be fair of me to say anything about your choice, only to honor it. I hope that you find comfort and peace. I hate to think about you and he living with another big hurt in your hearts. Be gentle with yourself.
April 5th, 2010 at 12:42 am
I hear you, friend. And my heart is with you.
April 5th, 2010 at 3:45 am
oh sweet…I’m hear this.
April 5th, 2010 at 4:27 am
i love you. you are so beautiful.
April 5th, 2010 at 4:31 am
and i am sorry for your pain.
April 5th, 2010 at 4:32 am
You sweet, nurturing soul. I love you and I ache for you.
April 5th, 2010 at 4:48 am
Oh, C, you do have the soul and heart of a mother. I am sorry for this pain you bear. Xoxo
April 5th, 2010 at 4:49 am
You already are a mother. I say this quietly and with deep reverence. And, then I throw my arms around you with the deepest of love. I’m here, darling girl. If you ever need ANYTHING.
April 5th, 2010 at 5:13 am
wow.
Your words touch me – always, always, always.
And remember, we never know TRULY what is around the next bend in this journey. Trust me on this one.
xxxxxxx
April 5th, 2010 at 5:30 am
oh christine.
i will ache for you.
i will hope for you.
i will hold you.
xoxo
April 5th, 2010 at 5:32 am
Beautiful.
April 5th, 2010 at 5:49 am
So spake the Earth Mother.
You do have a nurturer’s heart…and diamond-like courage. I wish you peace.
April 5th, 2010 at 6:09 am
this is heartbreaking. many hugs, mrs flutter.
April 5th, 2010 at 6:35 am
My dear, sweet friend . . .
April 5th, 2010 at 6:37 am
Christine I hear you. From the deepest part of me. As a childless woman myself I know that motherhood is a gift. But I also know that mothering does not rely solely on us having our own children, but also on how we partake in the mothering of all children. And even though it is nothing like the same thing I find some comfort in the mothering I do on others’ behalf. And like you I hope that perhaps if there is a next time around, my spirit children will find their way home. And I hope yours will too. xx Jos
April 5th, 2010 at 6:52 am
This is beautiful.
April 5th, 2010 at 7:31 am
That’s very much like my story too, with details and reasons and some feelings changed, of course. I really appreciate you giving voice to it so beautifully.
April 5th, 2010 at 8:18 am
You’re a fairy godmother.
April 5th, 2010 at 8:54 am
Oh, there are times when it’s not all that great anyway. (Says she who only knows how to make a joke out of sadness.)
I do know that you could be a mother to rock a child’s world, in a good way. Instead, we get some of that energy and caring.
April 5th, 2010 at 9:22 am
i know your pain. so sorry.
April 5th, 2010 at 9:33 am
Can you maybe take some comfort that just because a child doesn’t come THROUGH you, it doesn’t mean they won’t come TO you? I have children who came through me, and children who came to me, and I love them the same.
April 5th, 2010 at 10:19 am
i don’t have any words, so i sit next to you in supportive silence.
April 5th, 2010 at 10:23 am
Such a moving post. I’m going to focus on the uplifting words here, “love has changed everything.” Children or no children, you’ve found love.
April 5th, 2010 at 11:26 am
As usual, flutter, you take my breath away. Your honesty here, and the fact that we are so alike, even as we are so different. So: I’m sorry. I wish things were different, or easier, or something other than what they are. For both of us.
April 5th, 2010 at 12:03 pm
(((hugs))) Yet again you have me in tears; for your story is my story, dear Christine. When people would ask me what I wanted to be as a child growing up, I always said “A Mommy”…sadly it appears that train has also sailed for my husband and me…coming to terms with it is a rollercoaster of emotions, so I hear you, and I know exactly what you are going through. You are not alone.
April 5th, 2010 at 12:35 pm
I love you, flutter.
April 5th, 2010 at 2:12 pm
Beautiful.
xo
April 5th, 2010 at 2:17 pm
Oh..this touched me in ways i can’t verbalize. (hugs)
April 5th, 2010 at 2:48 pm
oh. I see them too…only they were supposed to belong to me, and I can’t figure out for the life of me how to get them here. With me. You put into words everything I haven’t been able to…I should have my friends read this post…I’m putting my hand in yours and giving you a squeeze and a very very small smile.
April 5th, 2010 at 5:57 pm
You said yourself mothering is not limited to children, not to imply the other forms are equal in reward, even if they can be equal in importance.
April 5th, 2010 at 6:50 pm
I don’t know the reasons that these children are only a vision for you, but allowing yourself to grieve their lack of substance, is ok too.
April 5th, 2010 at 7:27 pm
I am honored to have you love my children and me. More honored still that you let me in to lay hands on your wounds from time to time. Some of the deepest imprints on my soul have come from the hands of childless people that have chosen to love me.
April 5th, 2010 at 7:34 pm
Christine, how do I write the sound that comes out of my mouth? How do I tell you of the hair that stood up on my arms moments ago and won’t lay down? How do I tell you and have you believe that i know, I mean, I really KNOW you would be a fucken fabulous mother?
much much love
erin
April 5th, 2010 at 8:43 pm
i so feel you, so so so feel you. i have felt like that all my life, well the last 12 years. you are such an amazing writer and i have missed you. much love xxoo
April 5th, 2010 at 8:45 pm
Was it something about yesterday? I sat in my sunny kitchen yesterday morning, drinking my tea and looking at Easter photos posted on facebook by my friends.
Click, click, click. Little girl after little girl after little girl in their Easter finery.
And then.
Little Em.
Photographed in a dress I gave to her mom when she found out she was having a girl.
A dress I originally bought for the child my husband and I were hoping for.
That was it.
15 minutes of crying big, fat tears.
After many months of not thinking about “it.” Thinking “it” was behind me.
So you, Sweet Flutter, have my thoughts for peace.
PS ~ Shania has a wonderful perspective.
April 6th, 2010 at 2:25 am
“I miss the possibility of you” just sitting here crying right now. love you.
April 6th, 2010 at 9:25 am
{{{{{{{{{{HUGS}}}}}}}}}}
April 6th, 2010 at 10:27 am
I love you more than words can say. ((((((hugs)))))
April 6th, 2010 at 10:32 am
i’m so sorry.
April 6th, 2010 at 1:22 pm
Big hug, you. Beautiful and heart-rending post.
April 6th, 2010 at 7:48 pm
Yes, a beautiful post.
I like, too, that you write about the children that would be as spirit children. People think I’m crazy when I say that I truly feel that I “knew” my children before they were ever conceived, but it’s the truth.
April 7th, 2010 at 9:19 pm
I love you. I know it’s not the same and it never will seem so, but if ever there is a woman who does epitomize the word mother, it’s you. You fill the void that some of us, even if we’re the same age, have.
April 7th, 2010 at 10:12 pm
You DO have a nurturer’s heart. I loved the honesty in this post, and how you feel sure, and yet not sure – because of how you love him. Your spirit children are dancing around you now. I just know it.
April 9th, 2010 at 9:56 am
This weblog is being featured on Five Star Friday – http://www.schmutzie.com/fivestarfriday/2010/4/9/five-star-fridays-edition-98.html
April 10th, 2010 at 8:11 am
oh Flutter, my eyes. they’re wet.
you nurture everyone you know out here, it’s true. i see you as a mother, even though that is not a choice you’ve made in the day-to-day usual sense…at the heart of it, just as parts of my own motherhood are invisible but no less real to who i am, so parts of yours are visible to those of us who love you and appreciate the gentle pats and guidance of your words. it matters. just so you know.
April 10th, 2010 at 12:25 pm
I don’t have any words. Just a big hug that I wish I could give you in person. (((((squeeze)))))
April 10th, 2010 at 6:32 pm
so very beautifully written. hugs to you.
April 11th, 2010 at 8:10 am
I love you, beautiful friend.
April 13th, 2010 at 8:50 am
This is lovely, you know that. And life has such a way of surprising us. You never know. Even if you have a magic ball, the images you see may not mean what you think they do. Your children–spirit and otherwise–are very lucky.
April 13th, 2010 at 1:21 pm
You should just have a kid.
April 13th, 2010 at 1:43 pm
Oh Flutter dear. I love you. Any child would be outrageously lucky to have you whether in this life or the next.
April 13th, 2010 at 3:48 pm
You write poetry and make me swoon. But, baby, I want details, too. What is it that’s keeping you from conceiving? Is there NO hope? Damnation. You are sooo a mother.
April 13th, 2010 at 11:50 pm
Man, that’s not easy. So well written though. Really. I’m with Jocelyn, though… is it really too late? There’s so many roads to motherhood.
April 16th, 2010 at 9:56 am
I’ve been saving this one since I saw the title, as I know some of this story and I know your heart and I know your outrageous talent and I knew I’d need some time to sit inside your words. I knew this would be incredibly powerful. And it was. Is.
And now I don’t know what to say at all.
April 16th, 2010 at 6:03 pm
Oh, honey. I am so sorry.
April 16th, 2010 at 9:20 pm
oh, this hits me in so many ways. i want to say to you that you can be a mother… that mothers are not all whole and healthy and perfect, and yet they can love their children and raise them and be enough, be more than enough. i want to say that the mere act of mothering can make take some of those places and fill them, that we all learn as we go. all of us. imperfect and stumbling and nurturing. that you, i know you, you have enough of the nurture.
And I also want to honor the choice or the life situation that has you, and so many others, not as a mother. To say that it is OK to not be a mother. That you can be a whole person without giving life to another thing. That you can nurture people who are not of your blood, not of your womb. That you can live and be and have a joy, and that it is enough. of course it is. it is wonderful. it is a full life.
xoxo
April 19th, 2010 at 12:55 pm
What a sad, but beautiful post, Flutter! Your community thought this deserved to be nominated for BlogHer Voice of the Week, and we quite agree! I’ve written about your post here: http://www.blogher.com/blogher-voice-week-flutter.
Thank you for you sharing it with us.
Regards,
Jory
For Elisa, Jory, and Lisa,
BlogHer Co-Founders
April 19th, 2010 at 7:12 pm
Unerringly written – lovely and heart wrenching. xoxoxox
April 19th, 2010 at 8:34 pm
You took my breath away as your writing often does. Wow. xo
April 20th, 2010 at 4:22 am
You’ve rendered me speechless; I can literally feel the ache in your chest and I’m so sorry for it.
I am glad that you are well enough to know that it is not meant to be this time around.
I’m always here, Christine. Always.
Much love,
jenn
April 21st, 2010 at 12:05 pm
Flutter, you have no idea how many times a day these thoughts are with me. For me it’s infertility, but I feel that motherhood is something that’s escaping me somehow and I’m beginning to think about the children I won’t have. Very touching post.
April 21st, 2010 at 11:42 pm
Oh. Babe.
I hope in my next life, I come back as your sister.
April 23rd, 2010 at 8:42 pm
It takes courage to face the emptiness. It takes faith to live with hope….. It takes substance to name the truth. Thank you for the many truths herein.
April 23rd, 2010 at 10:00 pm
Oh, Christine. Oh, my friend.
April 26th, 2010 at 9:59 pm
So beautiful.
My heart it aches.
April 28th, 2010 at 6:21 am
What Painted Maypole said…all lovely and all true.
May 3rd, 2010 at 12:22 pm
Very movingly written. I have had my children and watched them grow, and now I wrestle with how I have to give them up and let them go. Your words, from such a different life situation, really resonated with me.
May 5th, 2010 at 11:06 am
I don’t know what brought you here, but I feel the depth and the breadth of your sorrow, flutter dear.
I honor your grief. I embrace you in my heart.