Family Motherhood and Life
It was my one year wedding anniversary and my water had just broken; I wondered if having my firstborn would overshadow elaborate anniversary celebrations for the rest of my life. It was a rare morning where the sun had broken through the indelible London clouds I had worked hard to find artistic expression in. I looked out one of the two bay windows we had in our small, scantily furnished, newlywed apartment and through the buds of a rarely flowering tree saw the die-hard Beatles fans desperately trying to connect to a part of history by etching their names on the wall in front of the famous Abbey Road Studios. Hoards of travelers from around the world fulfilling a dream, crouched down on their knees, as if devotedly ready to take the sacrament, in front of a three-foot wall filled with love notes and letters to the band members, which would never be seen. I realized much like most people’s history this wall was painted over every few months leaving no trace of those who had traveled thousands of miles and waited a lifetime to make their markings. And worse they would never know, as only those who lived in close vicinity knew about this abomination. It had not occurred to me until this moment that my womb was to bring a new life into this world how many births and deaths, how many people’s lives had been lived in just this one city block, all overlooked and unnoticed under the shadow of the fame of a rock band from decades past. My nerves kicked in.My parents had arrived from the United States just three days ago and I hoped to have a few more days where I could show them around my neighborhood in London before zooming off to the hospital to deliver their first grandchild. I negotiated with myself about whether I maybe had time to just enjoy one more day of true freedom before I became a mother. I wanted children from the time I knew I had the miraculous gift of bringing one into the world. I was not one to be frilly and dream of love and elaborate weddings like most of my girlfriends. I dreamt of being a mother and raising children who would be peaceful warriors in the world. People whose story and history would matter regardless of fame or fortune. I loved kids, their innocence, fresh eyes, unadulterated love, so I knew that the day I brought one into the world would be the day my every waking breath would be devoted to another. But it was not until this moment that the innocence of this dream erupted into a more brutal version of reality while staring at the oblivious fans outside, representing the norm of humanity and its disillusions.
