Motherhood

I think about the children I may or may not have. I imagine their potential facial features. Maybe it's the dark brown curls and little fingers gently touching my face. Despite your indecisiveness, your body seems to make the choice before your mind is ready. Expressing my desires is difficult, and I find myself caught between different potential paths. I almost visualize the different lives I could live, catching glimpses of fleeting moments like fragments of a fading dream. I long to hold on to these possibilities, to catch a glimpse of each potential future before it disappears. I want to explore the essence of all life, enjoy the scent of a mother's love, the sweetness of parenting, and the challenges of becoming a parent. In one scenario, I imagine myself as a mother navigating the complexities of happiness. In other cases, she imagines life without her mother, still striving for happiness, beauty, and relaxation. As we approach 39, we develop new self-love, but nostalgia lingers, clouding our memories, complicating our hopes, and creating a montage of illusions that make us long for things we already mourned. The negotiation process is a difficult aspect of grief. It forces me to constantly let go of what I have already released, and the daily flood of my mind brings it all back. Every morning, as the tide recedes, I see the ocean floor. The landscape of loss and rebirth is similar to deciphering tea leaves for signs of the future. In this puddle of uncertainty, I think about the children I will never conceive, name, or hug. I have a limited number of eggs and stories waiting to be revealed. I try to mourn the countless potential futures that unfold before me like spectacular fireworks lighting up the sky. Uncertainty obscures my desires. As we approach the coastline, each crystal disappears, softening into ethereal hues of winter, reminiscent of the beach on which Eliot wrote The Waste Land a century before me. I resist the urge to think of another analogy and search for answers in the gentle waves. Perhaps the emotions I feel cannot be expressed in words, and may be too heavy to convey through words alone. Perhaps in another being it would be possible to live the entire life conceived. Perhaps in this lifetime, you will discover your true self by embracing the unknown. In the vast uncertain space, I think of the children who cannot touch my hand or hear their names whispered in the silence of the night. I have a finite reservoir of untold stories within me that long to be revealed to potential descendants and the world. As I navigate this complex web of possibilities, I feel as if I am watching a spectacular display of fireworks. Each explosion symbolizes a potential future that I am trying to express. Uncertainty obscures my deepest desires and makes every decision fleeting as I approach the shores of reality. A soft winter palette washes over the stage as T.S. Eliot wrote his reflective poem in The Waste Land over 100 years ago. In the calm of the crashing waves, I resist the temptation to cover my thoughts with another metaphor and instead let my emotions surface. Perhaps the depth of my feelings goes beyond words. The weight would be too heavy to bear with words alone. Could all imaginary creatures materialize in another world? Perhaps by embracing the uncertainty of this existence, I can discover the essence of my true self and navigate the maze of possibilities with courage and grace. That's it, thank you

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