Between the Lines

There are so many things I have told you. My first kiss, my first period, my first heartbreak. I’ve told you I loved you. And I’ve heard you say it back more times this week than most will hear in a lifetime. I’ve told you how lucky I am to have you. How lucky I am that my soul found yours. I’ve told you my fears, my dreams, my deepest hopes for life. I’ve told you that you’re my best friend. And I meant it. I’ve told you how often I look to you. How no matter what age I am, I look to your guidance like sailors look to the stars at night. Reverent and loving.

I’ve never told you that I don’t think, but I know, I could never do what you did. I could never provide the comfort, security and love that you did. I never told you that I don’t even want to. I don’t want to worry about children or their future. I never told you that I never pictured myself pregnant with kids. Never pictured kids, even when I was young and thought that children were a foregone conclusion, a must if you were a woman. I never told you that I can live with regretting not having kids, but I can’t live with regretting having them. I never told you that I will not have children. I never told you my biggest fear is that if I tell you this, you will think I am ungrateful for all that you have done.

I am telling you now that no one could have done it better than you. You were my biggest cheerleader when I told you I made the middle school soccer team and the shoulder to cry on when I told you that Tyler left me. I’m telling you now that although I hope to live like you, I don’t think our paths will be the same. I am telling you now that I hope to live with your integrity and strength but not with the same title as “Mom”. I am telling you now because I know that you will understand and probably always did.

You always told me you wanted me to be happy. I am telling you now, that living a childless life will be the best way to achieve that. You always told me that when I committed to something I should follow through. I am telling you now that children are something that, if I were to follow through on, would make me miserable. You always told me that when you were young, you used to picture your life with a husband and kids. I’m telling you now that I never once thought like that.

You can tell me I’m making a mistake. But I don’t think you will, you know me better than that. You can tell me how much you loved us at every age. I already know you did, but that doesn’t mean I have that same love in me. You can tell me that it will be hard to date and find a husband. But this isn’t something to bend on because I’m scared of being alone.

I’m asking you to tell me you forgive me for this. For not giving you grandkids. For not taking the life you have given me and running further up the hill with it and passing the bouton to someone else. I’m asking you to fold me in your arms once again and tell me you love me. I’ve been adult for a while now, but I still need that. I’m asking that you don’t ask about future children anymore. I’m asking that you hear me when I say thank you for the life you have given me but I’m sorry I will not be passing it down.

I’m asking you to hear me once again tell you how much I love you.