Perfect Moments

I’m not a religious person; I wasn’t raised with the expectation of church every Sunday, and I’ve never read the entire bible. When considering my own beliefs, I’d qualify myself as agnostic. I like the idea of a benevolent deity and hope that there’s existence beyond this life in whatever form that may be, but I tend to land on the side of science as the ultimate creator. I am as nature intended, not as God created, and nature is beautiful in its infinite ability to create uniqueness and acceptance. Nature does not care for sexual orientation and it celebrates differences in colours and plumage. I suppose nature is my god.

But there have been a few times in my life when I’ve wanted something so badly that I’ve pleaded and begged the God who is named in Bibles and on TV and in the Churches:

‘Please God, make him stop hurting me’

‘Please, God, let it not be cancerous’

‘Please God, I don’t want her to die’

Yesterday a co-worker who is on maternity leave came into the office with her 6-week old baby boy, and he was presented around the building with the typical pride of a new Mother. He’s beautiful. I stroked his soft, black hair and tickled his chubby-baby legs… and I didn’t hold him. Because it’s hard, so very hard, to have a baby in my arms and not want to fall to the floor in a puddle of tears while inaudibly babbling: “whynotmewhywhywhy’s”. I hold myself back from the children of strangers and acquaintances, and I do my best to shove 15 years worth of BABYBABYBABYNOW! feelings back into the recesses of my mind where they wait for the opportunity to escape. Which they do. Every day.

“I hate this. I almost wonder if it was easier before… before my future children became a real possibility that I Just Have to Wait For. Half a year. A year maybe. Please God, just… please. This thing I have wanted all of my life, my biggest dream, my largest desire, please, just please. Please.”

I keep a personal journal, which I write in every day, regardless of where I am. It’s my coping mechanism; my way to express feelings while I’m at work or feeling stressed out or sad or happy or… whatever. After my co-worker left with her beautiful son, I opened up my journal, and what you see above is what I wrote. Just those 7 disjointed sentences. If I was given to excessive drama, what I felt yesterday may very well have had me on my knees entreating God to just give me this one thing. Today, tomorrow, a week from now. Soon.

It was hard to put those feelings away – possibly the most difficult it’s ever been – and I carried the sadness around with me all afternoon like Atlas with the world on his shoulders. Sometimes it gets easier when I just force a smile on my face and pretend that I’m OK, and by the end of the workday I was putting on a pretty good show. The pretense lasted until I got home, and that’s when the mask came off and I just felt it all again. Mr. Right greeted me at the door and the hug and kiss that he bestowed upon me went a long way towards soothing my hurts, which he’ll never know.

‘Close your eyes,’ he told me, as he put his hand up against my glasses. I protested, jumping to the immediate conclusion that I was being punk’d. Or that he wanted to spare me for as long as possible from something having been broken in the kitchen (please not my beloved Keurig machine!). Or maybe L~ was once again seated at the kitchen table for another unscheduled visit. I eventually gave in – it was either that or have his bear-sized palms pressing my glasses against my face.

Eyes closed, I let him take my hand and lead me forward, through the kitchen and into the dining room. Trust is something that I’ve always struggled with, but even in the midst of my trepidation I followed him blindly.

‘OK, open ‘em’

A dozen gorgeous red roses. Baby’s Breath galore. Even a pinkish ribbon, adding a feminine touch to something already so girly. I gasped, possibly for the third time in my life. I am not a gasper. These roses are gasp-worthy.

‘They’re so beautiful!’

‘You’re beautiful,’ he breathed between kisses. That moment… it’s a picture in my photographer’s brain now, a snapshot of pure, unadulterated happiness. Tears welled up in my eyes – I blinked them back. I think if I’d let them fall, they would have tasted of joy. The smile that I’d had to force earlier came as naturally as breathing and remained on my face for the rest of the night.

Thank god for that man.