Sharing

Every time, and this is not an exageration, I see, hear, watch, or read something wicked cool, the first person I want to share it with is Henry. And I can't. Well, that's not entirely true - I could but it would feel like sharing into the wind.

Jake, my stepson, had a birthday earlier this month; his 24th. When I met Henry Jake was 5 years old. Now he is married and has a son. It doesn't seem possible!  I have some great pictures of Jake that I had taken over the years. Then, Henry and Jake walked out of my life. Jake was 17 at the time.

I will hold on to all of these pictures and someday, maybe, I can share them with him.

Someday.

Calculating Time

My oldest son, Matthew, came to live with Henry and me in early February and it started me thinking about the time that's passed...

• 13 years and 7 months since Matthew, Connor and I have lived under the same roof.
• 13 years and 7 months since I made a difficult decision to give my boys up because I wasn't sure I could take care of them and have a nervous breakdown at the same time.
• 13 years and 2 months since I tried to end my life with a bottle of prescription medication and failed and my first psychiatric hospitalization.
• 12 years and 8 months since Alexander Lee passed through my arms on his way to heaven.
• 11 years and 2 months since I held Hunter Nicholas for the very first time.
• Almost 9 years exactly since I walked across a parking lot and stepped into Henry and Jake's lives.
• 5 years and 11 months since my beautiful Grandmother died in my arms, as I whispered how very much I loved her.
• 5 years and 10 months since Henry and I said "I Do" to each other.

Enough?

Will I ever feel that I

shared
did
talked
loved
nurtured
forgave
cried
hugged
prepared
taught
respected

prayed

enough?

Peace

The morning after the explosion between Jake and I, I woke him before leaving for work. As I sat on the edge of his bed, I told him how sorry I was for yelling at him. He asked me for a hug. As I wrapped my arms around his body I told him how much I loved him.

He told me he loved me, too.

As I stood up to leave, I handed him the apology letter I agonized forever over the night before. Snuggling down into his bed again, he closed his eyes and, smiling his uniquely crooked smile, he tucked my letter under his chin.

"You're NOT My Mother!"

Dear Jake:

I am absolutely devastated by what happened between us last night. I am truly sorry, and I deeply regret, having yelled at you.

In an instant I turned in to a parent I vowed I would never be. I allowed myself to turn the hurt I was feeling overwhelmed with, to anger – and I shouldn't have. I just never imagined I could be so hurt by something you said to me.

Jake, you're right; I'm not your mother. I am not the woman who carried you for nine months, endured hours of painful labor and gave birth to. I was not the first person to ever hold you. As an infant, I am not the parent you kept up all night or barfed on. I wasn't the parent who rocked you to sleep or picked you up when you cried. I wasn't there when you cut your first tooth, learned how to crawl or when you took your first steps.

But, I am a woman who cannot imagine it being possible to love you any more than if I had done all those things. My love for, and deep commitment to you is because of you, the person you are, not because we share genetics.

Jake, I love you because you're YOU. In the entire universe, I was chosen to be your stepmother and for that, I am truly blessed.

Love,

Carrie