There are times when I absolutely want to go back and try to capture that lightening in a bottle. Some perfect moment that made the world so much easier, so much better. But it can’t be done. Something always changes. People do it just a little bit differently because they want to try for that perfection. I made that mistake with my ex, it couldn’t be done. That picnic where everything was wonderful, maybe the next time we tried it just felt forced.
Moments like hearing someone tell you they love you for the first time. Or the sound of that first cry of a child being brought into the world; those are moments that just can’t be duplicated. The second child is always special in their own way, but the anticipation is less because you know some of what is to come. You can try everything possible to make it special, or unique, but some times “been there, done that” enters the world.
My house has kid stuff in boxes, some things on a shelf in the garage. I’ve asked, no begged my family to see to the donation of those items but my mom keeps holding out some hope that maybe I’ll get better and maybe at some point I’ll want to have another child. I’ve told her over and over that’s not going to happen. I can’t make any complete assurance about the cancer leaving my body, it seems to have quite the grip this time. I want it to go, but I’m learning that the reality of that is questionable.
The pain I feel about the kid, that hasn’t lessened in any way. The most honest and open thing I have ever seen a politician do was two weeks ago when Joe Biden talked about how he felt he couldn’t be a leader of men [just a phrase, women too!] because there he was on national television weeping about his son’s passing. Some men are taught that showing that vulnerability makes them weak. Showing that makes them strong!
Just the notion of sitting in a room waiting for some OB/GYN to tell me that everything is okay, I can’t do it. The panic is strong with this one. It’s not that I never wanted another child, but those complete circumstances changed and I know I can’t go through that process without someone who is much stronger than I am. I wouldn’t begin to know if that is fair to the other person. I had so much fun thinking about my daughter from day one, everyone deserves to understand that feeling.
I understand better than I should that some people can’t have children. Some people want them so desperately, but nature or society, dumb accidents happen to ensure that sometimes just can’t happen. My high school reunion is this weekend and I’ll avoid it for two reasons. The first is I don’t need the looks about my health, but more importantly I know I will never be able to get through the simplest of answers about what happened with the kid. I can’t get through writing about it without my eyes welling up. Like every adult, at least the normal rational ones, I would have traded my very existence to ensure hers. [This case in Boston with little Bella makes me want to hold public stonings for people who harm children!]
You can;t re-write history without effecting the future outcome. That’s why the winners get to write their version. It’s the position my former mother-in-law took. She won the fight, she got to proclaim her victory but at what cost? In her mind you just excise the chapter, burn it and forget. Great, wonderful way to deal with a grandchild!
There are plenty of positive memories that I have. I cling to them life a life-preserver. At a time when some doctor tells me that make the next seizure could wipe some of them away, I wrap my arms that much tighter and pray that if that time should come, please just take me along with them. Losing them means losing myself and that would be the worst outcome of all. Living but not knowing.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Night and Day.”