May 27, 2024

Thinking about you today. Not like you're ever NOT on my mind but today especially for some reason. Maybe because my birthday was a couple of weeks ago and I did NOT feel like celebrating at all. Maybe because I realize it's now been 7 months without you. It's getting a little easier but the hurt doesn't lessen. The crying jags are fewer and far between, but they still happen. I'm tearing up right now in fact. I just don't know how I'm supposed to survive for the rest of my life without my heart. And I'm scared about my own health. On one hand, I hope that I am okay and that what's running through my head is not going to become reality; but on the other, I hope it does so I can be with you. Catch-22. 

I love you. I miss you. Despite my personal beliefs that there is nothing beyond this life, I hope you're in a place that has a beach and white sand and endless fruity drinks and you're enjoying getting to know your great-grandma & great-grandpa and that maybe even you've met Michael and maybe even convinced your great-grandma to let you dye her hair pink or green. Be happy my baby. 

 Kate and Ryan on their honeymoon - a Disney Cruise - 2023

Holidays

 So, it’s the holidays and I just don’t feel like celebrating at all. Thank goodness for my aunt, cousins and sister. We decided that rather than doing the whole presents and dinner and what all, we would go low key with a brunch and game. It was nice and fairly quiet and not stressful. We followed that up with a low key girls movie night. 

 Loss. It's never easy. The loss of a child, the loss of a parent, the loss of a friend. Loss is a word that can encompass many, many things too. I've lost a child. I've lost children. One through the greed of others and one through the greed of cancer. I've poured out my feelings over the loss to the greed of cancer. Now I want to pour out my grief over the other. 

In January of 1990, I discovered I was pregnant. I'd only been married two short months and yet, here we were. I wasn't ready to be a parent, but there was joy. So much joy because I was selfish enough to think that for one moment, I'd finally have someone that would love me unconditionally. Someone who would depend on me and need me throughout their life. I did my best. I took care of myself, went to the doctor, took my vitamins, stopped smoking, never did drugs and generally tried my best to make sure my baby was happy and healthy. 

When you were born, I was so happy and you were so beautiful. This little, tiny, scrawling thing that had such a cute little bow mouth and this downy blonde hair. You smelled like hope. Hope for a better world, a better life. And when I took you home to our studio apartment and you screamed and cried because my milk wasn't coming in, I tried to feed you all the time. When we took you to the doctor and he said you weren't getting enough nutrition, I switched you to formula. When you started projectile vomiting that, we took you back and were told to switch to soy, we did and you handled that so much better. But...

We lost our apartment because I wasn't working. The man was trying but not enough so we ended up in a shelter - better than the alternative but not much. When he took you out during the day while I was at school trying to build us a better life, I didn't think anything of it. Somewhere around November of that same year, things were becoming bitter and less joyful. Then, disaster. 

A visit from CPS. I was informed that the man had been hitting you. I never saw this and there were no bruises to explain away. The next thing was your nutritional needs. Somehow the medical records had been accessed (this is before HIPPA) and I was accused of malnourishing you. And given a choice. The choice between placing you in foster care or with a relative. I asked what the chances of getting you back were. They said with CPS, it could be a year or more; with a relative, essentially, we could get you back any time. For me, I thought it was an easy choice. Little did I know what would happen next.