Why Didn't Your 'Real Family' Want You?

Oh, my child, but we did. Yet we are not your 'real' family in any way that affords us exclusively that title. We are your 'marginally' family, your 'hopefully one day' family. I digress.

You were, are, wanted. It destroyed my relationship with your bio-dad's family, how badly they wanted you, without regard to what was best for you. His grandmother died wishing to 'bring her family together', to have you to rock to sleep in the ways that an old Italian great grandmother would. His mother dreamed of days when she could override my rights, take you no matter my (or your bio-dad's) choice. His dad silently disapproved. Yes, yes they wanted you. I stepped fought away from that part of your family in an effort to protect my choice, to protect you. I don't know, now, how they would feel about you. In the end it didn't matter. They all passed before you were six. I wonder, would they have held on longer if you were in their lives?

My family. Oh how they ache to know you. I moved out here six weeks after your birth, running from the pain of you being so close and yet so far, and was greeted with a stark reminder. On the board, just inside my mother's door, was her version of your birth announcement. Your name, date of birth, weight and length, all written in her prettiest handwriting. All she would ever have of you, too sacred to erase. My whole pregnancy she begged me to bring you out to the left coast, to let her help me raise you.Still she cries for missing you, having never met you.  My little brother - oh he rarely speaks of you, but when he does it is with the tone of support and yet pain. Yes, yes my son, you are wanted.

You are wanted in the two bedroom apartments I could not bear to get because I couldn't have an empty room where you could have been. In the days, even now, when I wonder how different my life would have been if you were here with me instead of there. I could whisper of taking you home from the hospital with me, to my house, because then it would be our house and oh how I wanted that. I wanted to breastfeed and diaper you.

So then, why didn't I? More than I wanted you to be my  son, I wanted you to have the world. I want you to have the best of life, to do and have all of the things that I never did. I was not enough for you, and for that I am sorry and yet so grateful.

With Love Always,
Me

What a Difference a Year Makes

It's been almost exactly a year since I've dropped into my little corner of the internet, it seems. I've been kept away by a much needed redesign over here, mostly to my sidebar. I was avoiding removing my ex from it, for some odd sentimental reason. It wasn't nearly that hard. Now there's a bit of a spruce up that went with it, but I know the design of this blog could use some help. Maybe one day.

I need to write, I've got things to get out. I will draft my first post here in just a bit, but a quick update is necessary. I have had a little communication thought T, though nothing earth shattering. They have moved, so I don't even have a good address to send presents anymore. I wonder if they would give me their new one, but I am afraid to ask. They never did get divorced. I guess that's a plus, though I hesitate to really know.

I am hanging in here. I've done a lot of thinking this past year, hopefully a lot of growing coupled with it. I am dating someone new-ish . We're quickly approaching 6 months together. He knows about Monkey and held me while I cried through the Bad Months (Sept-Jan, if anyone is new here. The run of back to school season-Monkey's birthday-Halloween-Thanksgiving-Christmas is just awful). We'll see where that goes. I did get my own place, a one bedroom apartment with two cats and a frog. It has been healing.

With that, off to write I go

With Love Always,
Me

Sometimes, even 5 years later, grief is boundless.

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