I thought by now, at the age I am at, that I would have my one family. A partner and a child or three. That we would gather for the holidays for family portraits, afternoons sledding, or evenings snuggled by the fire watching classic movies. My partner and I would have created a warm and welcoming home that smelled of spruce trees and pumpkin bread. Our love would be strong and powerful. And the children would be creative, caring, and courageous. We would be the family gay family in the neighborhood.
But instead I sit in my apartment, alone. I haven’t bothered to decorate for the season, between work and social gatherings I haven’t found the desire to pull out the garland or lights. I will soon gather with my parents, siblings, sibling-in-laws, and my nephew. We will open presents and drink hot cocoa in the soft glow of winter. And underneath my smile and laughter will be a deep sadness that I arrive and depart from these gatherings alone.
This year maybe I will leave a note beside the plate of cookies that my nephew puts out. It will read “Dear Santa, All I want for Christmas this year is my own family. A wife who loves me as I am and a child or three who will fill me with joy. Love, Femme”
I have been pretty good this year, so maybe I have a shot. Maybe, 2013 will be my year.