when I was a child,
my mother was never there.
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.
this gaping hole
in my life will
never be filled.
I was a child
with no mother,
and now
I am a mother
with no child.
