The Future I Might Never Have – And Learning to Live with That

Lately, I’ve found myself sitting quietly in the car, at the edge of conversations, or even in the kitchen making dinner, frozen in thought. Not the fleeting kind, but the type that lingers – that sits heavy in your chest.

As I help my sister prepare for her wedding to her partner of 20 years, something inside me cracked open again. The joy is real – I love her, I adore her partner, and I’m genuinely happy for them. But alongside that joy, there’s something else. Something bitter. Something hollow.

It’s the same feeling I had when I helped plan my best mate Tabs’ wedding. That sinking ‘what if’.

See, I’m in a long-term, loving relationship with Ryan. He’s the person I didn’t think I’d find. The one who makes everything lighter, who laughs at my darkest jokes and knows when to just hold me. And yet, no matter how strong our love is, I can’t shake the reality that my chronic illnesses – heart failure, pancreatitis, diabetes – have put a countdown on my life that most people our age don’t have to consider.

It’s not just the health stuff – it’s what it all means. The longevity. Or lack of it.

I want to marry Ryan. God, I want that so badly. I want the wedding, the vows, the shared name. I want the photos we’d hang in our home and the feeling of safety that comes with being ‘his husband.’ I want to hear a little voice call me ‘Dad’ one day, and to watch that kid grow up with a heart full of love and a family that looks like ours.

But the truth is, I don’t know how much time I’ve got. And that reality has forced me to ask – is it fair to put Ryan through that? Is it fair to start a family knowing that one day, way too soon, he’d be left to finish it alone?

That question has kept me up at night more times than I can count.

There’s this ache that I carry – not a physical one, but something deeper. It’s the grief of a future I may never get to live. And I’m realising now that this grief isn’t loud. It’s quiet. It’s the sting of seeing two people say “I do” and wondering if that will ever be me

It’s the weight of knowing that part of me – the part that wants to be a husband, a father – may never be fulfilled. That some dreams, no matter how deeply you want them, just aren’t meant for everyone.

And that’s a hard pill to swallow.

But maybe, just maybe, there’s still something beautiful in the life Ryan and I do get to live. Even if there’s no wedding, even if there’s no child. Maybe our love, the way we show up for each other every day, is enough. Maybe it has to be.

So this is where I am now. Sitting in the middle of joy for the people I love, holding space for my own quiet heartbreak. Trying to make peace with the things I can’t change.

Trying to let go of the ‘what ifs’ and embrace what is.

And even if I never walk down the aisle or hear someone call me ‘Dad,’ I’ll still have loved deeply, lived honestly, and tried my hardest to find meaning in all the spaces in between.