The Last Goodbye

Would you like to have kids? Are you guys planning to have kids? When would you like to have kids? Would you want a boy or a girl?

Just the other day, a good friend of mine posted on Facebook wondering whether it was a safe place to be open and honest. I pondered his question. I was all too familiar with people who used Facebook as their mental regurgitation space to share all their personal and often dramatic issues. There was a reason I had less than 150 friends now on Facebook. On the other hand, he had a legitimate question. Could we be honest or was Facebook just another place to show a perfectly-lined-up life, just like when we came dressed in our Sabbath best to church?

Speaking of honesty, there is one thing that has been bothering me immensely lately. Just as people are ambivalent about whether or not to receive the vaccine, I have been grappling with whether or not to have children. I married late and am now in my 40s. Until now, God has not blessed us with children. At the same time, I have not been very proactive about following up with a fertility specialist or seeking fertility treatments. In all honesty, I am terrified about the thought of having children while I equally long to hold a little one in my arms and know they call me, and not some other woman, Mommy.

Before I met my husband, I was really good friends with Karen who had twin boys. I helped her take care of them since they were premies and had just come home from the hospital. We built a special bond and those little boys knew they were safe with me. When we would go to church and some loud woman would reach to hold one of the boys, they would bury their little head in my shoulder and I would calmly move out of reach. I watched them walk their first steps, rocked them to sleep, gave them their bottles, and held them on my lap when we went for a drive. I held their hand as they toddled about after church, played the fishing game with them, and helped decorate for their first birthday.

I was never one to go and pick up random children in church or stop and say hi to a little one I was passing in the grocery store, which my husband is constantly doing to my extreme embarrassment. I didn't want to disturb any family dynamics so I just watched wistfully from afar and wondered what it would be like to have my own little one. I marveled at how new mothers seemed so natural at what they did. Then Karen gave me the gift of spending time with and taking care of her twins and I realized that I could, indeed, do this.

I married. We talked about kids but never really seriously. Both of us coming from broken homes, both of us disenchanted with life, and both of us very much aware of the enormous difficulties in life, children were seemingly never in the cards for us.

I had known other couples who didn't have children and I had never asked them why they didn't have kids or jokingly suggested it was time for them to have kids. Yet the community around me was not as thoughtful or sensitive. For some reason every single person felt it was their God-given duty to ask me about my reproductive goals. Was I going to have kids, did I want a boy or girl, when did I want kids? It made no difference if we were just acquaintances; the questions came regardless.

Most of the time I dug my fingernail into the fleshy part of my thumb until it hurt so I would not cry. Then I would usually reply with God knows or look at them until they became as uncomfortable as I felt. I could not tell them honestly that I had dreamed of being a mommy since I was little. That I wanted to have twins. That I was terrified of trying to raise children in this impossible economic situation and in this world where abuse is rampant and morals have flown out the window.

Often some insensitive soul would look at my belly, the 12 kg I had gained from stress-eating during the pandemic's multiple lockdowns and economic crises that led to fuel and groceries skyrocketing, and remark, Are you pregnant? Not only did they remind me that my arms and heart were empty, they dug and twisted the spike with a comment that reminded me of my lack of self-control and poor eating habits.

I can honestly say I am thankful God has not given me a child because I would want to be able to guarantee them a comfortable life without too much pain or suffering and that I cannot do. I could not raise a child who would turn to me and ask, Why did you bring me into this difficult world? I could not be certain they would make right choices and live an upright life. I would not be able to raise a child who had serious health challenges and having a child at an older age significantly increased that risk.

Not every woman is comfortable to be honest about how she really feels. As women, we are taught to be subservient to all others around us. If someone asks us piercing personal questions, we feel we should answer them, rather than politely state that it is not their business to know. We worry more about their feelings when we do not consider our own. While it is true that when we actually speak out, it is not that difficult to be open, it takes courage and a safe space to speak. Even in my own openness, I have had well-meaning people try to justify others' questionings or tell me that God can bless me with a child if it is His will.

What if it isn't His will? Or what if I exercise my free will and choose not to have a child because I am thinking of the long-term consequences and how difficult this life will be for them? A child is not like a puppy who needs a little training, food and water, and love and then they are content. A child has to be intentionally nurtured and brought up to be a good citizen in society. I cannot choose to have a child just because toddlers are so cute.

So this is where I am. Caught between a longing and reality. Learning to be honest about what I wish while recognizing what can be. Struggling with the likelihood that it is too late. Then again, the TCK life is one of unfulfilled dreams so this is just another one I can add to the valise, then shut the lid and lock it tight.

One more goodbye.