I almost don't want to write about it.
It makes me afraid that it might come true.
But it has been on my mind, and in order to get it out - I must get it out of my mind and mouth by discussing it with the masses. Or at least the very small mass of people that will read this blog.
Sunday I spoke with a woman who somehow mentioned to me that her dad died when she was 6 weeks old, her mom remarried a year or so later, and since she never really knew her dad - her step-dad is who she is referring to when she says "dad".
I almost broke down crying right then.
Here are my thoughts in order:
1. My dad. Jane will not remember him. Kid #2 will have zero experiences with him. It made me think of the other day when Jane told me over breakfast that she had "one papa, two grandmas, one doggie, and one Ashley" (her babysitter). I reminded her of Grandpa Jim, and she looked at me like I was nuts. I think she only knows him as this bearded character who flies helicopters in her helicopter movie.
2. This is really my greatest fear: me dying. Me, dead, and my kid(s) being raised with no memory of me. No knowledge of how much I loved them. No recollection of the sound of my voice.
(I am taking a little break to cry a little)
Really, this is silly. Silly to live in fear.
Really, this is selfish. Selfish to think that I am so important.
Really, this is prideful. Pride in my super good job I'm doing as a parent.
But I am truly fearful, I am truly important, and I am truly proud of the job I'm doing as a parent. Mostly though, I would be so sad for my kid(s) to not know me, my love, my desire to see them grow and improve and become excellently contributing citizens.
Aren't we all doing what we think is best? Don't we all want our kids to be raised with our own values and ideals? Do you think someone else would do that for your child(ren)?
All I can think of is Jane calling some other chick "mom" at her college graduation. Some woman who I don't know, and won't do things MY way, and couldn't love my Jane possibly as much as I do.
Why am I making myself cry like this?
Last night I mentioned this to Blaine, and he said "why would I care what happens, I'll be dead" ? Perfectly reasonable question. But reasonable is not what this feeling is. It is torture, and dread, and fearful.
So I cried myself silently to sleep - telling myself that I will just write it all down here to get it off my chest. However, now I feel heavier.
Deep breath.
Sorry for being so depressing. Just trying to help myself!
This is why I scrapbook. To tell the stories that no one can tell for/about me. So that's good.
Sadly,
Stacey