I turned 37 this week. It was, without a doubt, the most difficult birthday that I’ve had thus far. Tears were falling when I went to bed the night before, and still streaming down my cheeks as I drove to work the next morning. Nothing had happened to upset me, but this anniversary of my birth caused me to reflect on my life in ways that I found uncomfortable and depressing.
We all have an idea of how we think our life will go – sort of a road map for getting from youth to old age. Most of us follow a path that closely resembles those taken by our parents. Education, a career, marriage, children, grandchildren, retirement, growing old with someone we love. I realized early on that my life would be much different than that of my parents, my sibling, and my friends. I thought I was okay with that, but the older I get the more I feel that I’m missing out on some of the amazing experiences that so many people take for granted.
I worry that I will die childless and alone. It torments me that at the age of thirty-seven I’m still not married and don’t have any children. When I first met my partner back in 2005, I remember telling him that I firmly believed gay marriage would be a reality within five years. Wishful thinking on my part. I am beginning to wonder if we will ever be able to get legally married in our lifetime.
I read once that a person becomes aware of their homosexuality and infertility simultaneously. Where straight couples might “accidentally” discover themselves expecting a child, same-sex partners understand that reproduction will be virtually impossible. Regardless of the various available options, it really pisses me off that no matter how much time and money we spend trying to expand our family, I will never be able to look at our child and see a combination of our features. Our child might have Honey’s chin or my eyes, but it won’t have both. Not that those things really even matter, but there has to be an element of comfort in knowing part of you will live on in your children long after you’ve left this world.
It still amazes me that people think homosexuality is a choice. As if anyone in their right mind would choose a life so full of hardship, despair, and disappointment. Even so, I know that I am one of the lucky ones. I have an amazing man to share my life with – someone who knows my faults and loves me in spite of them. I have a great job, a lovely place to live, and some truly wonderful friends.
I would just love to have a little person to share it all with, to spoil rotten, to chase around the yard, and to cherish unconditionally. Maybe one day…