Empty Driveway

“OK Momma’s, squish together and say HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY”. My aim is to snap the moment when most of the moms are saying ‘happy’ - trying to take advantage of the mouth formation - in hopes of capturing what looks like a smile on each of their faces. I know it’s unlikely to get a photo with all participants focused and ready; not with an edging temper tantrum, a freshly soaked diaper and the ever so loud animal companions animated on the TV screen. I snap several pictures in succession so everyone can find at least 1 Instagram approved shot.

My mother, standing in the middle of my sisters, cousins and aunts, looks so thrilled to be surrounded by so much love. She stares directly at me and for a moment I can actually feel her warmth wrap around me like a security blanket. I smile back at her but the warmth fades as I very quickly realize I am the only one on this side of the camera. I am the only one without child. I am the only one who is not capable of serving the very purpose a woman has on earth. I am fruitless. I am barren. I am alone. 

While trapped in a daze, I’m brought back to present by an outburst of laughter. My littlest nephew Caleb is poking at my sister-in-law’s 8 month belly, and with the most innocent eyes he looks up at her, “you have balloon?!?!”. 

Oh what a silly boy! A budding mind hosts such sweet simple logic. 

I run over to him and crouch down so I can look right into his big baby blues. I smile as I tell him, “Auntie Claire doesn’t have a balloon in her belly, it’s a baby. Auntie Claire is pregnant sweetheart, that’s why her belly is so big”.

I can see Caleb processing this information and as I prepare to answer any follow up questions, he surprises me with a comical response, “my daddy’s belly is biggest”. 

Laughter erupts once again and I scoop him up in a big bear hug. He squeezes and squishes back with all the might in his little being. How can such a small hug make me feel such big relief?? “Your hugs have magic”, I whisper in his ear. As I put him down he excitedly tells me “They do! I feeled it!”. 

I give him a little tap on his bottom as he runs back into the living room to play with the other kiddos. I watch him stretch out his arms and pretend to soar around the room with complete joy and ultimate freedom. 

I keep the small talk short as I make my way into the kitchen and start the tidy up. I sense it’s nearing nap time so I return the kitchen to it’s pre-brunch state and I start my goodbyes. Lots of hugs and ‘I love you’s are exchanged while I make my way to the foyer. I forage through the frenzy of strewn shoes until I emerge with the 2 sandals I arrived with.

As I’m driving out of the community, I see a number of families outside enjoying the weather. Sitting at a stop sign, I glance over and see a woman who bears a striking resemblance to myself. She’s wearing a very colourful bathing suit and she is foolishly running through a sprinkler with her children. I watch them chase each other as their golden lab runs and jumps among them. I hear giggles and hearty belly roars. My heart sinks. 

That is my dream. That is my hope. Even at a young age, I understood what my doctor was telling me even though it was wrapped in wording like ‘maybe can’ and ‘probably won’t’. There is no easy way to tell someone that their chance of having a family is small, if they have any at all. But I always chose hope. I always chose to dream. Now I reach an age that it is considered dangerous - geriatric even - to get pregnant. And now I have to accept the hand I was dealt, even if it’s not played the way I had imagined.

Hope is powerful. Hope is dangerous. I carried it with me for so long. I nurtured it. I fought to keep it alive, and now I have to let go. But I suppose I’m getting good at that. I let Steve go so he could find someone that could give him a family. He found it. He’s happy. And even though it pains me to say so - I’m happy for him. 

As I pull into my empty driveway that runs alongside my brick laden townhouse, I can remember seeing his jeep pulling out for the very last time. We used to coordinate our work schedules so we wouldn’t block each other’s vehicle in. And now it’s just me. No schedules, no jeep, no Steve - just me. I can be content on my own. I am, for the most part. But there is a heaviness that is always lurking in the darkness. Will I always be alone?

As I’m unloading a ridiculous amount of leftover sandwiches into my fridge, I can hear my phone ringing. I shut the fridge door and race to the bottom stair where I carelessly flung my purse. I start rummaging through my bottomless bag and wow, I never really realized just how much junk I store in here. Mints, elastics, a granola bar, a balled up pair of socks? Ah man, are these even clean?? There’s a grocery list, my library card - oh I have Caleb’s favourite monkey in here - and ah ha! Finally my phone.

I missed the call but I can see it was my oldest sister, Susie. Before I even get a chance to unlock my screen she sends me a text message that says ‘SOS!!!’. I dial her back and she answers so quick I don’t think I heard one full ring. I ask her “Hey, what’s up?? You OK?”.

I could hear Caleb crying in the background when Susie sighs into phone, “Well yes, I’m fine. But no, I’m not. Caleb has been crying since we left mom’s house and he won’t settle down for nap. I think he’s just overstimulated from today’s adventures. I need to get him to sleep , like ASAP, cuz mama needs a nap too!”.

I chuckle in a soft manner. “Aww man that’s brutal. What can I do to help??”. 

“Well”, she says, “I know you probably JUST got home, but Caleb says that he needs one of your hugs”.

I smile the biggest smile and repeat her, “He wants one of MY hugs????”. 

I could hear his sad little sobs in between breaths in the background and without even thinking I grabbed my car keys. “You tell my little monkey butt that Auntie is on her way!!”. 

I can hear Susie say ‘I love you’ as I hang up the phone and step into my shoes. It’s amazing how big this kid can make my heart. He’s one of many little kiddos in my life. I guess in a sense I do have babies, it’s just a little bit different than I had hoped. What difference does it make who carried the child when I’m fortunate enough to share unconditional love, sticky hugs and silly giggles with them. 

As I walk up the front steps to Susie’s house, I see Caleb waiting at the door for me. He flings it open and bursts outside at a remarkable pace. He practically jumps into my arms and again is squishing and squeezing and giving quite possibly the best bear hug I have ever experienced in my life. 

“Aww sweetheart, I love you so much! That was the bestest hug ever!!! Do you think you’ll be able to nap for mommy now???”.

He nods his little head up and down and whispers in my ear “Your hugs have magic”.

I put him down slowly and with tears in my eyes I whisper back, “I know, I feeled it.”.

He runs back inside and I just keep on smiling. Maybe it’s pointless to waste too much time being sad about what we don’t have or won’t have. We might just miss what’s currently right in front us.

I make my way back to my car. Instead of feeling the usual heaviness of being alone, I feel gratitude and love. I stretch out my arms and pretend to soar.