The Beginning and the End

 There's an iconic painting put to canvas by Edvard Munch named "The Scream" - you already know the one. You can see it in your head. Even if you didn't know who painted it, just the name of it evokes its image. A genderless, identity-less figure standing on a bridge, formed by wavy lines with face in hands, mouth open in an eternal state of shock or surprise. Some might say despair. There are people behind him (or her) - they're not alone, and yet there's something incredibly lonely about them. And just like that figure, here I sit at 1am in the morning, well into what is undoubtedly the second half of my life - and I'm wondering "did I miss something?"

These thoughts are nothing new - I'm certainly no one special in that regard. Such musings are the same ones that cause husbands to cheat on wives, buy expensive sports cars or get hair plugs. They're the same musings that send women to get botox or liposuction or a boob job. Despite the universality of these musings each circumstance is different, as unique as the person doing the musing - and for me I stand on the precipice of my second act knowing that childlessness is something I have to live with. There will be no babies for me but adopted furry ones, no lineage to continue thanks to a tiny little piece of y chromosome that decided to go rouge, rendering successful child bearing as risky as a game of Russian roulette - but worse, where the odds are hugely stacked against you and the likely conclusion is pain, blood, void and death.  

This lack of legacy weighs heavy sometimes - it brings a whole new meaning to mortality when you have nothing to leave behind but a memory, a house, a vapour of love and joy that you hope someone else will notice and carry with them. But no blood. No family line. My husband's sister has three boys, but our line will end with us. 

You cant face that kind of prospect without considering the meaning of life, the universe and everything and something tells me that despite my limited geek credentials the answer is not as simple as 42. While my faith in God and in Jesus Christ remains, the details are fuzzy - I don't feel like I can glean the guidance and the solid foundation that I used to from religious belief. I live each day just trying to do the next right thing and most of the time I feel like I do know what that is. But the bigger picture remains blurry. 

So, down the rabbit hole I go. I am working out this thing called like just like everyone else. I'm 39 years old, I'm a fur mamma, a wife, a sister and a friend and I have no freaking idea what I'm doing. I have a lot to be thankful for, and a lot to be proud of. But the older I get, the less I know - so, just like 'the scream' this blog will be my cry into the void, and who knows, maybe someone will hear it?