Maybe in another life

Today, I turned 34 years old. In about 2 hours and 40 mins, it'll nearly to the minute. I once went to a delivery room at UCLA's medical center on my birthday and met a roomful of newborns who will all share the same birthday as me.  I guess today I feel grateful, and it was the first time in a very long time that I prayed in the early morning thanking God for the life I have.

I have a lot to be thankful for on this 34th birthday of mine. My friend Paul from my younger days drove out to see me, gave me a $10 lotto ticket, 2 century movie tickets, and took me out to lunch. I can't even remember the last time a friend of mine gave me a birthday gift. And my wife today brought home some korean food (kimbap) from the Korean grocery store, and I was both surprised and excited to eat with my wife. All in all, it was a good day, and its days like this that make me feel like I have things to look forward to. Like I mentioned in the quote from Tuesdays with Morrie, we need to limit our self-pity. And today, on my birthday, I look to a son that I have never met to find strength,  to not only be a better dad one day, but to be a stronger, better, and more optimistic person.

Some 5500 miles away from me lives a 16 month old boy that I have never met, heard the voice of, and long to see. He is our potential adoptive son with whom we have been matched with since the beginning of this year, in early January.  While there lies more than 6-7 months left before we will even be given the opportunity to officially adopt him, my wife and I struggle to imagine the adjustment and awkwardness that will surface upon his arrival. And when he does come home, we will suddenly be parents, of a child that is nearly 2 years of age (if not older).  That horrifies us, but also inspires us.

Sometimes, (admittedly) not very frequently, I wake up in an optimistic mood where I think my infertility is a result of God's grace and infinite mercy. That in a past life I asked God for a second chance to relive my life without children because in that life my wife and child die during childbirth and he has given me the chance to do-over that traumatic event. Or that in some warped or twisted fashion, this scenario where our adoptive son T has become an orphan will have his shitty situation met with our sorrowful endeavor and as a result, we will rise triumphant in this life together. I do find it nice to have those thoughts, but they are usually fleeting and outnumbered by days of depression.  The harsh reality remains: I face the world each and every day with the fact that I am a man that literally can not impregnate my own wife.....who's wife suffers each day as her own fertility starts to wind down as she inches every year closer to 40.....and I watch helplessly unable to take away our pains and suffering no matter my efforts.....and I have to find the courage to persevere through this depression and self-pity. Because in this world, the real world, its becomes my wife and I alone whom face our fate together, and try to salvage the vision of a life we once had for ourselves.

Maybe, in another life, my wife and I had or will have our own biological children.  In that life we don't have the deep and painful sorrow of not being able to reproduce. We don't stress over health issues, international adoptions laws, infertility and fingerprints, doctor's appointments and court dates, immigration and social workers........ and that just maybe the only things that make us cry are the movies we watch on Netflix, and the only things that depress us are the problems our children have at school.  I like to imagine that sometimes. But that's just my imagination running away.....but I will continue to try to make this life one that my wife and I can look back on and feel proud of and one that we truly feel we tried our best at, even if it turned out bumpier than we would've like, and not exactly the way we planned it.