>…and it makes me wonder.

>My baby boy is going through a break up.  He is 16, 6 foot 4, blue eyed, soft hearted, and torn apart.  Momma no likey.  At all. 

Normally I would go all mother hen and be irate at the young lady who did the damage.  But I can’t.  See, I knew her, and wanted the best for those two kids.  Before we moved, I cried to my husband like a baby because we were tearing them apart.  I wanted her to come with us.  I still wish she was here.  She was about the age that the baby I lost shortly after I had Jacob would have been.  I couldn’t help but look at her and wonder if my daughter (I thought the baby was a girl.  I never got to know) would have been like her.  So I guess I latched on a little too strongly and put the cart before the horse.

Distance is a hard thing.  Especially for two young people.  I’m so sorry it went this way. 

Seeing him go through this stirs up so many emotions.  Mostly it takes me back to my first love.  That past I keep trying to run from?  It all began with him.  He took everything I was willing to give, broke me, betrayed me, and played with me like a cat toy for as long as he could.  I was a baby.  I went from playing with toys, to kissing this boy.  I was over the moon.  I was an idiot.  The worst part?  He broadcasted everything that went on between us, and gave me a reputation that I could not escape, and eventually gave in to.  Hey, if everyone tells you that you are trash, and they treat you like it, maybe you ARE it.  Right? 

What would I go back and tell the girl of 13 who hated herself everyday?  Who slumped her shoulders.  Failed her classes.  Wanted to be seen, yet wanted to hide.  What would I tell that broken girl?   I would hug her, tight.  I would cry hot tears and tell her she was NOT who “they” said she was.  I would tell her to hold her head up high.  I would tell her not try to find love around every corner.  I would tell her of the mommy she was to become.  The things she will get done.  I would tell her…”You ARE loved.” 

I never went to a prom.  It was like I was radioactive.  I felt like an ugly creature that annoyed everyone.  Some days, most days, I would lash out by being provocative, being comical, or appearing crazy.  None of it worked.  I cried myself to sleep a lot of nights.  I wished I was dead many more.

They say you never forget your first love.  No, you don’t.  Unfortunately.  The hardest thing I have had to tell my son, is that the only way to get through it is to go through it.  Mom can’t make it go away. 

Although I made a bad choice, I would not change it.  That tough road led me to who I am today.  If I changed one thing, I might not have my three precious boys.  One might think that all those years of feeling trampled down would have destroyed my faith.  Folks, my faith is why I am standing here.   I don’t know how people do it without God.  I really don’t. 

I don’t know what happened to the guy.  I don’t want to know.  I wish him well where ever he is.  I do wonder sometimes if he ever had kids.  Did he have a little girl?  And when she turned 13 did he think about what he did to me?

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3 responses

  1. >Ah never a truer word spoken. If you've read my "I am" post you know I know. I pent so many years looking so incredibly "put together" when inside I was a disaster area. I feel like people should know that. I might have looked happy but I was crying inside. I might have looked like I knew what I was doing but I was just doing it to cover up some other lacking.

  2. >It's our story. Everyone has one, and each one is beautiful, tragic, and personal. I just wish we could all share them more. Maybe then there would be less things to polarize us. Maybe we would just love.

  3. >Liz, at the risk of looking like a fool saying all this publicly, I'm going to do it anyway. First, you're the only one who remembers all of that, even then I knew you and I didn't think poorly of you. But my heart breaks for you anyway. You are intelligent and interesting and I think you're fantastic. Second, my mother is insane. She's an addict. She raised me in a lifestyle I can't even being to describe. But, because of this I know what it feels like to feel confused and worthless. I know what it's like to seek attention of men (or boys, as it were) to try to repair your broken self- esteem. I know how it feels to regret your past. I know how it feels to pray that your children will never make the mistakes you made. I'm only now feeling like I'm healing. This made me cry. Like a baby.

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