I believe that her absence was a factor in my fate, part of the reason that I went searching for love in all of the wrong places.
I believe that her absence is one of the reasons why I became a mother so young.
it wasn't her fault, not entirely. it wasn't fully my fault either, nor the fault of the man who had fathered my child. it was no one's fault.
I was pregnant, and placing blame couldn't change that fact.
I was still a child when I learned that my own child was growing inside of me.
I was scared and sad and lost. I wasn't ready.
when they put that cold goo on my belly, and my son's little body formed on that screen,
I already knew that I would do anything for my child. my son was my world before he even entered it.
but before my son's eyes opened on this planet, tragedy struck.
I woke up in a hospital bed. I was told that I was alive and that my son was alive too. an emergency C-section was able to save him.
the first time that I saw him, I wasn't allowed to hold him. he had tubes coming from every part of his tiny body, and a ventilator was breathing air into his lungs. he looked so fragile, almost like a porcelain doll. it almost looked like none of it was even real.
the NICU doctors read me an entire book of my son's diagnoses, medical terms with words too long for me to understand.
the only part that I heard was, "you might want to start saying your goodbyes."
I refused to say goodbye, and my son refused to give up.
my baby was a fighter. he beat the odds over and over and over again.
he grew stronger and healthier every day.
eventually, I was told that I could take him home. I was also told that his time with me would be limited.
my son's father read one page from that long book of diagnoses, and he was overwhelmed. he walked out on us. I wasn't angry at him. I was overwhelmed too
but I wouldn't leave. I would be there for every moment of his life and every breath that he took.
it was me and my son against the world. we were inseparable.
I read him books every night before I tucked him into bed, even when he was too young to understand me.
I kissed him on his forehead and I told him that I would never leave him.
I promised my baby that I would be the mother that I never got to have.
my son fought harder than anyone who I have ever known.
despite the hospitals and the medicine and the surgeries, he was a happy baby. he had no idea that he wasn't like every other kid.
he laughed and he cried and he smiled that big smile when I held him close to me.
and then the day came when I had to say goodbye.
I had that same heartbreaking feeling that I did when I first learned of his existence. I wasn't ready. I would never be ready.
all that I have left of my baby are photographs and memories and a small, pale green urn sitting on my dresser.
my son is gone. my baby left this earth not even a few years after he had entered it. my only child was taken from me.
I still have these strong maternal instincts. I feel a need to protect someone who no longer needs my protection.
I am missing a child who will never come back to me. I am broken. I am so broken.