I really and truly am content with my life and the way it has played out.
But every now and then I will come across an item we bought in anticipation of the baby we were trying to have for years and years. There’s the Humphrey’s Corner lamp we got at Tuesday Morning, the anniversary edition of A.A. Milne’s complete Winnie The Pooh and several old baby books from my last job. Most of the things are put into storage against I know not what. Souveneirs of a life that might have been, I suppose.
It doesn’t make me sad to come across them. Not in the same way I am sad when I pass by the ashes of my departed Casey. It makes my heart ache for that other woman who lost all those years to disappointment and heartache. It makes me wistful for my twenties–a decade many people spend hanging out and going to parties and barbecues and waterskiing. A decade that woman spent in the gynecologist’s office and hovering on every fertility chat group and website ever created. I know that woman was me, but in a way she really wasn’t entirely the me I am now because she hadn’t learned to let go of the bad dreams and embrace the good things right in front of her.
I’m glad I’ve got those souveniers, from the time I toured heartache and stubbornness and ingratitude.
It really is very appropriate that all of the items are childish in nature.
