I remember well watching a 20/20 segment about 20 years ago on women who had focused on their careers and in the process allowed the window of time available to start a family to close. One woman was crying to break her heart. “And now it’s too late,” she sobbed.
At the time, I was involved with Dean, and despite our on-again, off-again status, I believed that in the end we were meant to be together. Still, the scene of that woman crying unnerved me. I remember thinking, “God, I hope that doesn’t happen to me.”
It happened.
It wasn’t even that I’d focused on my career. It’s not like I even had a career — more like a job. And since then, I’ve had two other jobs.
No. Dean died, I languished, the window closed.
The wedding I’d envisioned didn’t happen. The house I’d hoped to make wasn’t built. The twins I’d planned to walk along the beaches of Lake Michigan weren’t born. Twenty years later, I’m that woman sobbing. Now it’s too late.
