Letting Go

Ovulate. Inseminate. Wait. Repeat.  Before he existed, I began letting my son go.  Yearning for him, though I did not know it would be him. Ovulate. Inseminate. Wait. Repeat.  The letting go began when I came to terms with my inability to get my wife pregnant.  My lack of semen, a black mark on my name. Ovulate. Inseminate. Wait. Repeat. Without testes in our household, we needed another to come help.  Did this render me useless?  How did I fit when my body was just an extraneous being in the triangle? The sorrow I feel/felt for being merely a passenger on the road to pregnancy is liquid inside me.  It settles in my feet and hands, sloshing around when I think too hard.  Ovulate. Inseminate. Wait. Repeat.  The letting go began when I, with lack of sperm, drew that life-giving substance into the syringe, filling the canal that would eventually bring my boy to me.  The letting go was born of bringing another into our life, being on someone else’s timetable and priority list.  Slipping into the passenger’s seat, I began to let go of the steering wheel.  Ovulate. Inseminate. Wait. Repeat.  And then it worked.  My tiny boy, growing inside another’s body while I can already smell him laying on my chest.  The letting go continued as I couldn’t eat for her.  I couldn’t sleep for her.  I couldn’t decide where to go or who to be with.  The letting go continued as she hopped a plane for a far-off land, taking my boy in her womb.  As her belly began to grow and I began to feel him move, I started letting go of feeling like I could be his everything and began to realize that I would be his everything, after her.  As he grew bigger and bigger, I began to dream about his face, androgynous and lovely.  When he was born, they put him on her stomach.  She had earned it, afterall.  So, I let go of being the first person to touch him. Then I held him and he looked at me.  From the moment I had to give him back to the midwife, I have been letting go.  Realizing that I can’t save him.  That he will have his heart broken.  Break a bone. Feel deep fear and sadness.  Letting go that I can never be his everything.  He walks and runs now.  Chatters like I did when I was a toddler.  He falls down, runs into car doors, and feels sad sometimes.   But he is also mostly joyful, which makes me happy, and inquisitive and loving.  The letting go continues, on a daily basis, but I changed rides.  No more ovulation, insemination or waiting.  Now it is: Watch in Awe.  Dry tears. Hug and kiss. Repeat.



One response to “Letting Go

  1. dianainfrance


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