I was talking with my friend Em (who is also one of my exes), and I was caught by an unexpected melancholy while she spoke of her daughter. Whenever she talks about her child, she becomes noticeably more vibrant, joyful, and enthusiastic. As she spoke of those little moments you can only share with a child, the tears began to stream down my face. I know it was about my absentee family, the death of my father, the way I was erased from their lives, even in the case of my father’s death…and I know it was about the overweening sensation of loss that I never felt loved by my family, and wished to know what it was like to have that healthy, loving, parent-child dynamic. Me, the child, was gone. Me, the parent was a ship that passed too swiftly in my night…
I am again reminded of that sensation (fear?) that i will never know what it feels like to nurture a young life, to really matter to someone that much; to have that kind of impact on another evolving human. Never mind that I may not ever fall in love again, or have a partner to share the rest of my life with. What if I never know the joy of having a child in my life?
And I am again reminded of the tragedy of having only one life, and how it always seems too short. How time has become my enemy.
So again, Em encouraged me to check into foster parenting. The idea seemed to make more and more sense as we discussed it again. This time, it felt even more fitting for me.
So I took that first step. I contacted the Heart Gallery for information on getting started in the foster parenting program.
I’m scary excited.
Because I live in a one-bedroom apartment, I have no room for a foster child. duh. Funny how the obvious things get missed. sigh.