Yesterday, as I was out walking the dog, dealing with the deep, deep sadness of the end of my marriage, I began to reflect on the choices I’d made during our time together.

This choice I made early on. I said to my ex (ouch! Writing that word alone hurts because it’s the first time that it is 100% accurate) that I’d like kids one day.

He said that he already had four from his marriage and that he didn’t want any more. I accepted that: I wanted him more than kids. Besides, the world as it was back then having kids either by surrogacy or adoption was going to be difficult.

Later on, he got ill – serious and debilitating mental ill-health – and I retrospectively added his illness as a reason not to bring kids into our relationship: I wouldn’t want children to suffer that environment.

At one time, my ex said that he thought that I’d make a bad father. That really hurt. I mean really hurt. I thought I’d make a good father because I had a lot of love to give.

Later on, my own father said that thought that gay people shouldn’t have kids because a child needs a mother and a father, and that kids with gay parents would get bullied and have a difficult life. That upset my husband, who already had a brood of his own. It also hurt me because that kind of prejudice is hurtful. Anyway, the problem isn’t gay parents – it’s straight parents not teaching their kids how to treat other people.

My ex and I had a number of different couples counsellors over the years. One of them asked us what we hoped for. I said children. That really surprised her. I don’t know why. That was maybe ten or fifteen years ago.

Even if I wouldn’t have them in this time of my life, I still mourn not having the opportunity. I wouldn’t want my young child to to be looking after an old man and watching me die and leaving them all alone. I physically could no longer make a baby anyway (being a eunuch and all).

Yet, not having children is a regret – and today the feeling is greater because the person that I chose over children is no longer my husband.

As I get to this point in my thinking, I realise that along with the sadness of regret is an anger for something lost. I don’t know who I am angry with – my ex? Myself? The universe?

I guess that’s grief for you.