A sad anniversary

23 Aug

At this time last year, my wife and I were back from our honeymoon in California, flush with possibility and hope. We immediately met with a fertility doctor and on the weekend of Ottawa Pride, we did our first insemination. I remember how I felt on the morning of the Dyke March — giddy, apprehensive, a little shell-shocked. I was also suffering from caffeine withdrawal and wondering how I would celebrate Pride without at least a couple of beers. My wife and I watched all of the queer couples with kids and wondered if a year later we would be marching with our own baby in a stroller or strapped to one of our chests.

And here we are a year later, our hearts heavy, unsure if that dream will become a reality. We really don’t know what the future holds. Tonight there is a Rainbow Family event happening in a local park, but I can’t bring myself to go. I would feel like the odd one out, staring at other people’s children and wishing they were my own.

The chill of autumn has started to set in and I find myself mourning a lost summer. A summer that started with incredible hope and dissolved into grief and sadness. A summer where I struggled to fall asleep every night and get out of bed in the morning. I know that we can never know what tomorrow will look like, much less a year from now. Jack Layton’s death has certainly reminded me of that. But I am struggling to remain hopeful and optimistic given how much we have both been struggling.

Maybe we will be a family by next year, next summer, next Pride. I hope so.

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3 Responses to “A sad anniversary”

  1. cathy August 23, 2011 at 7:12 am #

    all you can do is keep believing in yourself and in the love you two share.

  2. j wallace August 23, 2011 at 9:31 am #

    I just wanted to say that I am reading along, and loving and mourning with you. Getting to the place of dreams is so often more arduous or difficult than we expect. The act of loving and hoping when love and hope alone do not bring success is hard work, and I would encourage you to recognize that part of what is hard, and what makes sleeping and waking a challenge is that loving and hoping, and continuing to love and hope are work. You are doing work. You are continuing to make room for the dream and possibility, and that work takes energy. I dream with you, dream of you and yours as a family with a small person, love aplenty and joy abound. I dream of visiting you and yours and your small. I will keep dreaming with you, keep imagining, keep hoping, keep believing. When the time comes, and it will, I will celebrate with you.

  3. Queer Femme Mama August 23, 2011 at 9:47 am #

    Thanks to both of you. More kind words that make me cry! xoxo

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