I spend most days being grateful. Because to be honest, these
days I have a pretty spectacular life.
I have a job I love. (I'm sure you're sick of hearing that.) I am surrounded each and every day by
curiosity, talent, energy, challenge, love, humor, paint and glitter. I work
with a group of kind and energetic teachers who also love their jobs. I feel lucky that they are hysterical,
energetic, go on Starbucks runs and also enjoy a great happy hour as often as possible.
I’m so grateful that Bitchy and Sassy have spread their
wings and flown. They have jobs - REAL JOBS - and are with partners that (as
far as I can tell) adore them. It’s very hard not seeing them every day- or
even every month- but they DO call me each and every day. (THAT alone is
miracle.)
I pinch myself every day when I think about having an amazing man like Ray in my
life. I’m almost afraid to talk about it – but I am pretty much the luckiest
girl in the whole wide world. (Love does heal all....) THAT
is another story to come….
And then I go to bed.
In the still of the night when I am so close to sleep my
heart remembers. I think of my
Golden Boy. I text or call him
every day- as I have done for the last six years-and am so thankful when I get
a reply. They are more and more
often these days, but will never erase the years that I was ignored.
Apparently, I couldn’t compete with someone who tried pretty successfully to
sever the ties a boy has with his mother.
But that’s (muddy) water under the bridge.
When I’m on the brink of sleep, when I'm ready to finally doze off, I think of my boy. I see his beautiful face. I remember his smile, his sense of humor and his antics. I remember that I HAD
to do everything with him. I had to cuddle with him before he fell asleep and he always shared everything that was on his mind. He was never embarrassed
to say anything to me, and claimed to be “a sensitive boy.” I gathered his friends and drove them
here and there…all the while laughing and singing every step of the way.
I look at him now, when I steal a few minutes here and
there, and see a man. He is
knocking on 18’s door, and is a shade above six feet tall. I will forever grieve the loss of those
six years, and what we could have shared. I grieve the chances I had to guide
him, to comfort him, to converse with him and to remind him about what is
important in life. However, I am reminded daily by the nightly news and by
tragedy that strikes close to home that he is still a member of the human race.
I shouldn’t be so damn greedy.
But still, in the wee, dark quiet hours of each and every night, my
heart aches for my child.
My only hope is that one day he will search for his birth
mother. And when he does I’ll be right here, right around the corner, with wide
open arms.
