on the children we didn't have

Today I mourn for the children we didn’t have, the weight of their unlived lives weighing heavy on my chest. I see their toys, their clothes a mess by the door, their hopes scribbled in journals hidden under the bed. I marvel at their fully formed lives that I could see clearly in my head and it’s a struggle to let them go. I wanted to tell them about you. I wanted them to see where you end and they begin. I wanted to pull them into the fabric that was our love. I wanted to tell them how you were the kindest man I have ever met, how you changed how I believed love could be. I’d always thought men were temporary, always fleeting, always running towards the next best thing. Yet year after year, you stayed. For five years, you made me believe in happy ever afters, in hands-clasped-silver-in-our-hair-seeing-through-the-years-together ever afters. When nobody else stayed, you never left. Until one day, you did.

Today I mourn for the children we couldn’t have. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I didn’t know what being a good father meant. Maybe we just carry our issues until we become the issues ourselves. Maybe I threw my ego around like you meant nothing to me. You looked at me one day and realized you’d finally snapped out of it – that this life we were gonna have, this love we were gonna share, this home that we built with our own hands – you wanted none of it. One day, you packed your clothes, your records, your half of my dreams. You didn’t even say goodbye. I got home that day wondering where you were. I sat by the window and waited. I thought for sure you were coming back. I could almost see it in my mind’s eye. You open the door. You drop your suitcase and your pride. You tell me you’ve changed your mind. Like you did before. Like the million other times we said goodbye. I leap into your open arms and all is right again. That last time was different though. You never did come back. I sat by the window for a full week, sifting through every shadow, yearning to see yours. Some days, I still sit by the window.

Today I mourn for the children we will never have. One final look before I say goodbye completely. I run to the closet, pack their things in tiny suitcases, and pack a sandwich for the road. I tell them to take good care of themselves and how I would’ve loved to meet them, how I would’ve wanted to become the kind of father I never had. But things change, people change, and you could hold on to someone but that doesn’t guarantee they’re going to stay. As often as lovers grow into each other, so many grow apart. I tell them that’s what happened to us and the fault was all mine and not theirs. I kiss them one last time. I say goodbye to their tear-stained cheeks and watch their shadows fade slowly into the horizon as they walk away.

♫: Birdy | Wings (2014)