Innocence is stolen and even the most intense skeptic begs answers of an unyielding universe. Point in case, yours truly. Indeed I have set aside my doubts, religious and otherwise, to scream angrily, "WHY?"
I have hovered over, if not completely smothered, my son since I heard from Mely of her baby cousin passing away. Two weeks shy of his first birthday and gone.
Deep breath.
I'm getting ahead of myself.
When I first arrived at the gym, I saw my friends Andy and Mely. I had not seen them in a few weeks and we dove into frenzied updates. Mely very generously asked after Richie and inquired after Nathan's newest act of heartlessness.
As we spoke, I looked her over. She looked strange to me. I had always assumed she was in her twenties, like me. However, today she looked older than her years by quite a lot. Her face was sunken in. Maybe she didn't get enough sleep. I decided it would be rude to tell her how "tired" she looked. My eyes were drawn to her gray hair as a moth to a candle. She seemed to have aged so much. I didn't know at the time, but suffering had tainted her appearance. She told me she had just returned from Mexico, where she had gone for the funeral of her baby cousin. Tears forced their way from her swollen eyes as she described what a happy baby he had "been". My own emotions took over as she told me of the baby's mother. After the death of her second infant, the woman seemed to be going out of her mind. The mother would smile suddenly, directing every one's attention to the doorway as she swore her little man would soon come toddling through. Moments later she would notice that she was standing before her infant son's casket, and she would scream.
"Why, God, have you taken my babies from me?"
Mely said that she has not been able to sleep since seeing the baby boy laid out to rest. His clothes were too big, and he was barefoot. She had never seen a dead infant before. She said she felt that she had to touch his hand, and now she can feel the presence of his tiny fingers in her palm. As she described this to me, she held out her hand as though she cupped his baby hand in hers. That visual is burned onto my mind. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her upright as she cried. Her hand stayed rigid as though she was afraid she would lose grip of his hand.
In situations like this, we all want someone or something to blame.
God?
Mexico?
the pediatrician?
the parents?
the devil?
Financial circumstance dictated the tune of the grief. The coffin was set on the kitchen table; all the funeral homes charged too much. The cemetery is far from the small Mexican town where the parents live with their other children and comes with the stigma of poverty. The baby was buried with no tombstone, just a peace of wood the father wrote on with an ink pen.
WHY?
Heads California, Tails California
As of tonight, I am the proud owner of one round trip ticket to the Bay Area. Richie and I will be taking a non-stop flight out of San Antonio to Oakland. In order to spend two weeks with my family and friends, I am making compromise after sacrifice. Neither airport destination is ideal; my preferences are, respectively, Del Rio and San Francisco. My nature dictates that I will fuss, unnecessarily, over every detail of my impending vacation. My fret level has gone from tolerably frantic to insane in the mere hours since I received confirmation. Although, to be honest, I must admit that I am giddy about the whole trip. My bipolar relationship with my home-state has caused an anxiously joyous air.
In an unconscious attempt to ignore my aforementioned mild neurosis, my mind turns to deeper concerns. I have not had any contact with Nathan for less than a week. An eternity's worth of days, but mere days ever still. I hate the part of me that desires to reach out to him. I hate the part of me that cares about whether or not he is affected by my lack of response. I am famously hasty about my communication with him. Has he noticed? I must talk about him to keep from talking to him. My heart sinks with every word that doesn't come from his lips. There is definitely more than a metaphorical correlation between my desire to depart from the aching that keeps my world from turning and my precipitant escape.
In an unconscious attempt to ignore my aforementioned mild neurosis, my mind turns to deeper concerns. I have not had any contact with Nathan for less than a week. An eternity's worth of days, but mere days ever still. I hate the part of me that desires to reach out to him. I hate the part of me that cares about whether or not he is affected by my lack of response. I am famously hasty about my communication with him. Has he noticed? I must talk about him to keep from talking to him. My heart sinks with every word that doesn't come from his lips. There is definitely more than a metaphorical correlation between my desire to depart from the aching that keeps my world from turning and my precipitant escape.
The Price Is Right
Oh, the ways my heart can break.
Richie points to a picture of Nathan and insists "dah-d".
Dad.
I blame myself; I have made a tremendous effort to help my son recognize his father's face. Directing my focus towards helping both of them realize the connection they share, has apparently only failed where Nathan is concerned. All day Richie has insisted on having a photograph of Nathan close to him. He walked from toy to toy with "dah-d" in hand. There will only be more interest and curiosity. Will I only ever have a check as proof that Richie has a father?
I feel, even more strongly after today, that a bank account is a sorry substitute for a parent. However, I find myself considering filing for child support. Nathan has declared that he will be setting money aside for Richie. For this, I would be gracious. I would, if we hadn't tried that before. Leaving Nathan to his own discretion, influenced heavily by a serious lack of understanding, it is no wonder that it did not work out. A savings account for Richie is a sound idea, taking into consideration all the uncertainties the future has to offer. It is difficult to view Nathan with anything but skepticism. I find it hard to understand why, if he is willing to offer up money for Richie, that he does not just voluntairily pay child support. Except that I know he will not actually follow through if left to independant enforcement. The prospect of government regulation would require he identify the reality of a child. I do not want to force Nathan to be or do anything against his self serving ideals. I wonder if my son will be affected if Nathan fulfills a financial responsibility or not. I know that Nathan will act in an even more negative manner if I do pursue child support from him. Will my choice affect whether or not he ever considers a more substantial role in Richie's life?
It is unfair that Richie is the one who truly suffers in this situation.
Richie points to a picture of Nathan and insists "dah-d".
Dad.
I blame myself; I have made a tremendous effort to help my son recognize his father's face. Directing my focus towards helping both of them realize the connection they share, has apparently only failed where Nathan is concerned. All day Richie has insisted on having a photograph of Nathan close to him. He walked from toy to toy with "dah-d" in hand. There will only be more interest and curiosity. Will I only ever have a check as proof that Richie has a father?
I feel, even more strongly after today, that a bank account is a sorry substitute for a parent. However, I find myself considering filing for child support. Nathan has declared that he will be setting money aside for Richie. For this, I would be gracious. I would, if we hadn't tried that before. Leaving Nathan to his own discretion, influenced heavily by a serious lack of understanding, it is no wonder that it did not work out. A savings account for Richie is a sound idea, taking into consideration all the uncertainties the future has to offer. It is difficult to view Nathan with anything but skepticism. I find it hard to understand why, if he is willing to offer up money for Richie, that he does not just voluntairily pay child support. Except that I know he will not actually follow through if left to independant enforcement. The prospect of government regulation would require he identify the reality of a child. I do not want to force Nathan to be or do anything against his self serving ideals. I wonder if my son will be affected if Nathan fulfills a financial responsibility or not. I know that Nathan will act in an even more negative manner if I do pursue child support from him. Will my choice affect whether or not he ever considers a more substantial role in Richie's life?
It is unfair that Richie is the one who truly suffers in this situation.
I could hate you, but I don't want to
It's a not-so-typical night in May; the third, to be exact. I am summoning the courage to take a pregnancy test. I know I am not pregnant, but I need confirmation. So, why am I so nervous? I am in the bathroom at my (already pregnant) best friend's apartment, waiting the obligatory three minutes for a second line to not appear.
tick. tock. tick. tock.
No.
It can't be.
"Jennie, this isn't a line...right?" I wonder, now, if my best friend took the time to consider lying to me just before affirming that we were both staring at two pink lines. Yes, the man I had left in the dust of my hasty escape from San Diego, had impregnated me with his drunken sperm. Condoms, depo, alcohol, one man, and one woman; add those variables together, in the right order, and you get a baby. I was surprised at the joy he seemed to get from hearing the news that "we" were expecting. Considering all that had passed between us when we lived together, I decided my astonishment was misplaced.
Why wouldn't he be as elated as I?
One year and six days after the longest conversation Nathan and I had to date, I discovered that the answer would never be what I wanted it to be. Loving him was never easy, but always worth trying for. Eight months later, he still does not have the capability to shock me. As I over analyze the last words between us, I can't imagine how horrible it would be to have a son that I didn't have the chance to meet, as is the case since Nathan was deployed the morning Richie was born. I have to assume that he is afraid of being daddy to a son he's never known, otherwise I find it impossible to fathom his disregard.
Perhaps it was Nathan's absence that sent me into single-parent mode, but I doubt it. With him being enlisted, we were both realistically aware of the time we would spend apart. I don't remember exactly when, or why, I felt that I would be raising our son alone. We started out so right. We had it all figured out. Maybe it was our arrogance that led to this flaming downfall. I could muse about the ups and downs of our relationship until the end of time (and I probably will), but I doubt I will ever understand what actually happened. I doubt he will either.
I never had expectations for Nathan and I. Everyday with him, I felt blessed. I didn't know what could happen, or would. I did feel certain, however, that he would make a good father to our baby boy. My heart breaks in ways I didn't know were possible as I see Nathan throw money at Richie, as though that could somehow compensate for all that he lacks as "daddy". I find myself wondering whether or not men that father children feel any attachment to them at all, beyond obligation. Men (is it more appropriate to say "boys"?) seem to be oblivious to the true nature of creating life. I suspect women would feel a deeper connection as they do carry the child for nine months before the men ever get to meet said child. For all the excuses I can, and do, make for Nathan, I still don't come close to comprehension. My efforts prove to be a mere distraction from the reality that Richie's father is the type of man that demerits parenthood.
My son is barely fourteen months old and already I dread the day he will ask all the questions I will never be able to answer.
tick. tock. tick. tock.
No.
It can't be.
"Jennie, this isn't a line...right?" I wonder, now, if my best friend took the time to consider lying to me just before affirming that we were both staring at two pink lines. Yes, the man I had left in the dust of my hasty escape from San Diego, had impregnated me with his drunken sperm. Condoms, depo, alcohol, one man, and one woman; add those variables together, in the right order, and you get a baby. I was surprised at the joy he seemed to get from hearing the news that "we" were expecting. Considering all that had passed between us when we lived together, I decided my astonishment was misplaced.
Why wouldn't he be as elated as I?
One year and six days after the longest conversation Nathan and I had to date, I discovered that the answer would never be what I wanted it to be. Loving him was never easy, but always worth trying for. Eight months later, he still does not have the capability to shock me. As I over analyze the last words between us, I can't imagine how horrible it would be to have a son that I didn't have the chance to meet, as is the case since Nathan was deployed the morning Richie was born. I have to assume that he is afraid of being daddy to a son he's never known, otherwise I find it impossible to fathom his disregard.
Perhaps it was Nathan's absence that sent me into single-parent mode, but I doubt it. With him being enlisted, we were both realistically aware of the time we would spend apart. I don't remember exactly when, or why, I felt that I would be raising our son alone. We started out so right. We had it all figured out. Maybe it was our arrogance that led to this flaming downfall. I could muse about the ups and downs of our relationship until the end of time (and I probably will), but I doubt I will ever understand what actually happened. I doubt he will either.
I never had expectations for Nathan and I. Everyday with him, I felt blessed. I didn't know what could happen, or would. I did feel certain, however, that he would make a good father to our baby boy. My heart breaks in ways I didn't know were possible as I see Nathan throw money at Richie, as though that could somehow compensate for all that he lacks as "daddy". I find myself wondering whether or not men that father children feel any attachment to them at all, beyond obligation. Men (is it more appropriate to say "boys"?) seem to be oblivious to the true nature of creating life. I suspect women would feel a deeper connection as they do carry the child for nine months before the men ever get to meet said child. For all the excuses I can, and do, make for Nathan, I still don't come close to comprehension. My efforts prove to be a mere distraction from the reality that Richie's father is the type of man that demerits parenthood.
My son is barely fourteen months old and already I dread the day he will ask all the questions I will never be able to answer.
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