It's a little after 3 o'clock in the morning and I haven't been to sleep yet. My mind is racing, I am severely restless, and I feel as though I am dangling off the patio of a high-rise building because I cannot get a grip. On anything.
We have intermittently had several days of cooler weather so it feels like fall to me and I can already feel myself slowly unraveling. For almost 22 years now I have been falling apart around this time and nothing I do makes the hurt tolerable for the month of September.
Yesterday I had a patient who came in for a post-op check and I asked her how the baby was doing and when she quietly responded with, "I had a miscarriage" I wanted the floor to just swallow me up. I offered condolences to her, and she thanked me. I told her that, from my point of view, time does not heal all wounds. I told her Alexander would be 22 years old next month and that the raw pain has settled into a comfortable ache.
Not a day goes by where I don't think of Alexander Lee. I cannot help but wonder what he would look like as an adult. Would he be well over 6' tall like his other brothers? Would his eyes be brown like Hunter's, Hazel like Matthew's, or bright blue like Connor's? Maybe they would have been green like mine. I wonder if his hair would be brown, blonde, or auburn-ish.
Would Alexander be a genius like Matthew, musically inclined like Hunter, or an athlete like Connor?
I failed with my other boys. Would I have failed with him as well?
If I could rewind the past 24 years and be given another chance to be a mom to my boys, I would do it in a heartbeat. I wouldn't let the dads walk all over me. Especially BIB. I would have stood my ground and not let Connor call BIB to pick him up 30 minutes after he arrived.
I would be up in his face and challenging him on every decision he made for Connor. BIB was such a prick. I had to actually ask him to buy a second set of Connor's school pictures for me, and I would pay him for it. "I forgot" he would say.
EVERY fucking year.
Seriously!? How difficult could it be for him to put the number '2' in the box on the order form!?
One weekend when Connor came for a visit, he was maybe 6 or 7 years old at the time, he had called his dad to pick him up not long after he stepped through our door. He had not used my phone, nor Henry's phone to make the call to his dad.
Why would he, right?
His dad bought him a fucking CELLPHONE. When I asked BIB why a 6 year old would need a cellphone he replied, "So he can call me anytime he wants to."
BBBBBOOOOOOMMMMMM!
That was the sound of two heads exploding at the same time. Henry and I were speechless. I really REALLY wanted to shove Connor's cellphone into the smallest and tightest orifice BIB had. Instead, I let BIB - and Connor - manipulate me. I had given both of them permission to manipulate ME.
I would be up in his face and challenging him on every decision he made for Connor. BIB was such a prick. I had to actually ask him to buy a second set of Connor's school pictures for me, and I would pay him for it. "I forgot" he would say.
EVERY fucking year.
Seriously!? How difficult could it be for him to put the number '2' in the box on the order form!?
One weekend when Connor came for a visit, he was maybe 6 or 7 years old at the time, he had called his dad to pick him up not long after he stepped through our door. He had not used my phone, nor Henry's phone to make the call to his dad.
Why would he, right?
His dad bought him a fucking CELLPHONE. When I asked BIB why a 6 year old would need a cellphone he replied, "So he can call me anytime he wants to."
BBBBBOOOOOOMMMMMM!
That was the sound of two heads exploding at the same time. Henry and I were speechless. I really REALLY wanted to shove Connor's cellphone into the smallest and tightest orifice BIB had. Instead, I let BIB - and Connor - manipulate me. I had given both of them permission to manipulate ME.
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