I ask myself for forgiveness for the night that I wanted to give my life to somebody else. I talk to stars and to God and to innermost me.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” I say.
On the night I sat on my bathroom floor hoping to gift a dying mother with my future days, I didn’t know that one day, my biggest fear would be leaving my son too early for either one of us. That while I do not have whatever disease that my imagined donor had, I have this life, and this boy, and I do not want to leave him.
Most nights, I don’t think about the moon. If it’s dusk, and I’m outside watching my son ride his scooter and I see the moon staring lazily down at us with its cold face, I may say “Hey Buddy. There’s the moon.”
Uninterested, because he’s figuring out his next scooter trick.
Tonight, it was jumping off the scooter, pounding the pavement with his foot, and jumping back on.
“Epic?” he asks.
“Totes,” I say, trying to not think about the fact that there are teeny-tiny neighborhood kids who are more confident scooter riders. For we are blessed, and I know that, even when I feel sad that my son struggles. He did well tonight.
He wants to be a You Tuber. I’m considering it.
We remember moons. We remember the ones that fill the sky with promise and a sense of watching-overness. The big moons. The Mother Moons. They feel like mothers anyway, orange and round. Closer and warmer.
I remember seeing the mother moon the night I invited death.
After a failed pregnancy, a failed marriage and a bad night, I sat on the floor of my bathroom and stared into a mirror. Life was bleak and uninspired.
My friends had babies.
I didn’t, and had been let go from a job that made me feel important. The owner of the company, a guy I thought was my friend, asked me to buy out my stock options, knowing he’d be declaring bankruptcy in a month. My best friend knew it was going to happen and didn’t tell me.
She let me spend money that weekend. We’d gone shopping.
I sat on my floor crying, and asked God to give me the disease a new mother had that would force her to leave her children for so that she wouldn’t have to leave her children. I wanted to give her the life in front of me that I no longer wanted, assuming that failed pregnancy meant that I’d never become a mother myself.
I walked outside and saw the moon. She was huge, and orange. She held up her wineglass and I clinked it. “Thanks,mama.” It’s been years now since that mirror prayer.
I have a six-year-old. He came later than he would have in my life plans but whatever. He’s here, and so am I. I went outside just now to find the moon and didn’t see it but realize that my biggest fear is something I have no control over.
I want to be here for my son. I want to live live fully and outside, and with him, even when the faces on the bathroom wall mock me. I will advocate for him, and do what I can for him. Somewhere in there, I’ll do what I can for me, too. Also? I’m pretty sure that my husband doesn’t know where the guinea pig’s food is…
For both of us.
This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. This week’s sentence is “One of my biggest fears I ever had to face…”
Hosts are yours truly (Kristi from http://www.findingninee.com) and sentence-thinker upper Michelle Grewe of http://crumpetsandbollocks.com/