Saying Goodbye to the Children I'll Never Have

 

This past Sunday I finally said goodbye to the children I'll never have. I have been thinking about this for a long time. I feel foolish even writing this, but since my daughter was born I have wanted another child. It didn't make any sense then and it still doesn't, but it has been the way I've felt. It was a source of repeated heartbreak that my ex-husband was so against the idea, especially combined with his rejection of our daughter in many ways. The divorce opened up the possibility of having another child, either through birth or adoption. Over the past year, though, I have started perimenopause and come to the conclusion that I no longer have the energy for a newborn or small child. Even though it is obvious, it was hard to face this fact. This is the beginning of the end, and I am not ready. I'm 44, my boyfriend is 60, and even though it is possible and has certainly been done, there are a lot of risks. The next question was adoption. I have been giving this some good thought for the past 1.5 years. Over the past week I finally, reluctantly came to the conclusion that I just don't have the resources for that, either. I am in a weird income bracket where I make enough to be financially independent and meet my and my daughter's needs, but not enough to hire help raising her, let alone another child. Without that, I struggle to balance work with everything she needs, and to even meet basic work obligations. Also, I had to take a good hard look at whether I am truly being there for her, and at best I am able to show up a good part of the time, but not as much as I would like. I find my self emotionally and mentally checked out more than I would like. If I am not running at 100% with one kid, what makes me think 2 is going to be any better? 

Sunday night I decided that I needed to make the decision final. I gathered a white candle, rose petals, sage and rosemary. I wrote this note on a piece of paper: "To the children I'll never have - I am sorry I could not care for you. I would have loved you. Fare thee well." I burned the note in the candle flame, then burned the herbs after it. 

It felt like the final acknowledgement that I needed in order to move on, but my heart has been heavy. I have to tell my daughter that I will not be able to adopt, and I know that she will be sad. I know that it was the right decision, but I still feel like I failed. 

Maybe next time. Maybe in another life. Now that door is closed. I wish I could have held you. Fare thee well.