Big questions

I've been thinking a lot about love recently. The for-real, for-serious kind where you agree to get married and spend the rest of your life with a person. It's something I've been thinking about recently, as an engaged person. You take that vow, until death do us part--so the logical question is, when will that happen? How long is the rest of my life?

Statistically, I'm likely to outlive Torsten--I'm younger and female, two points in my favour. But just trying to imagine what my life would be like if he died makes me shrivel up on the inside. Whether it's an early and unexpected death or a peaceful passing due to old age, the thought of living without him is inexpressibly heinous. It is one of the only thoughts that truly hurts me, just to think.

But this is another thing, and one that I wonder sometimes if I am alone in. When I think about the prospect of Torsten dying young, I am overcome with the urge to have his children. Even though I am not interested in being a single mother, the contemplation of life without him makes me crave having his children on some deep, primal level that is out of my control.

I discussed this with my sister, who rightly pointed out that it might not be the best way to move on with my life, to start raising his children without him. But the idea of not just living without him, but actually moving on from our time together... it's just inconceivable. I can't wrap my head around it the same way I can't wrap my head around the size of the universe. It's there as some vague, abstract concept that I blithely assume I will never really have to face up to.

But eventually, unless we somehow manage to die together, one of us will have to face up to the prospect of a life without the other. And that's a horrible, hurtful thought. But it doesn't make me unhappy, because on the other side of that atrocious coin is the beauty of our relationship, our bond, the love that we have for one another. The beauty of love is that it's such a strong emotion; such a deep, whirling high can only feel so deliriously perfect because it stands out sharply against the contrast of a horrible, sinking low.

So that's what happens when you promise to share two lives until one of them ends. You accept the prospect of that low; you know that one day it will arrive and all you can hope is that the day of its arrival is still very far away. But even if it's soon, it's worth it, because I would not and could not give up this high. Loving Torsten for as long as I can, and sharing our lives for as long as we live, is the most beautiful, perfect thing I can imagine. And it's worth any low that we will one day have to face.

One thing, though, that scares me a little bit, is the need I feel to have Torsten's child. As I've mentioned before, we are thinking that we'd like to conceive one child ourselves and then adopt a second one. In theory, we both agree with this , though we haven't thought through all of its practical applications yet, nor do we feel a need to at this point. We don't want to plan our lives to that degree. But it's an idea that we both like.

However, this compulsion to have Torsten's child makes me doubt the adoption thing a little bit, especially given that we would like to have one child biologically as well. I know that I'm capable of loving a child tremendously whether or not it is biologically mine, and Torsten is the same way. But this need to have Torsten's child--well, that's about him, not the kid, per se, but at the same time--if Torsten died and we had only an adopted child? It wouldn't fulfill that need in the same way.

Which makes me wonder. If you have a child who is biologically yours and a child who is adopted, what do you do if your feelings for the two of them differ? And will the feelings differ? Will there always be that vague distinction in our heads between the two kids? And won't the adopted child feel isolated in a family of people who look alike, share medical histories, etc.? I know that as a parent, you aren't expected to love your children exactly the same--differently, immeasurably, but equally is what I often hear. But will that equality truly exist? When I relate the creation of a child back to my love for Torsten, I have to wonder.

What do you think? Am I the only one who feels this all-consuming need to have their significant other's child? And would that need interfere with my ability to love each child for who they are and not what they signify? Do adoptive parents compare their adopted children back to their biological children? Or will parental love for children, whether biological or adopted, really trump all?