Friday, November 22, 2013

Untitled

I had my son the day before my 20th birthday on October 14, 2008.  That moment was so surreal for me.  My baby was so beautiful and he was so peaceful (as long as no one bothered him lol).  He was my glimpse of sunshine peeking through the clouds of a deadly storm.  I had three weeks with him before my sentencing.  I wanted to embrace those moments of joy so badly, I didn't sleep for three days.  I'd stay awake and just stare at him sleeping.  God... I didn't want to let him go.

When my son's father cheated, it wasn't with just one other girl. It was always two, three or maybe even more at a time.  So before my baby was even a day old, one of the other kid's mother's and my former co worker had written under his picture on the hospital website that he was ugly and that he couldn't be his father's child.  Another of his kid's mom kept calling and texting me, harassing, per usual.  My situation in itself was so miserable only a jealous hate and evil could delight in that.  Forget that my son's father shamed me endlessly.  Forget that I was incarcerated my entire pregnancy and now about to leave my newborn baby for prison.  These women hated me and harassed me to no end all because they wanted a man they saw as "mine" regardless of how horribly he treated me. It had taken me until that day to realize that the girls calling and harassing would never end.  In misery there are no boundaries, which is why I offered none of them the attention they were seeking.  They were the very last of my concerns.  None of them, not my son's father... no body mattered to me anymore.  The only feeling I allowed myself was to fall in love with my son and absorb every minute I could with him.

I won't say the way my son's father treated me didn't hurt me.  It did.  Crushed my heart.  But I HAD to go numb or I wouldn't have made it through my pregnancy.  It stung, I cried but I had to find solace somewhere for the sake of my sanity and my son.  I didn't expect him to act differently or be a better man. But I DID expect some type of respect.  Besides the fact that he had MY car, I shouldn't have had to walk anywhere, shouldn't have had to ASK for money or rides and I shouldn't have had to deal with other women harassing me the entire time.

I didn't take the case because I thought it was going to change anything between him and me.  I didn't take it because I loved him or to prove anything either.  They had offered me the opportunity to make statements against other people too in return for a deal but I couldn't do it.  I had taken the case because I thought that that was what I was supposed to do.  I saw it as more of an obligation than a favor.  I was disgusted by his complete disregard for me and I was hurt, yes.  But turning my son's father in, or anyone else for that matter, had never, not once even crossed my mind.  I never thought about it, not even once.  And to this day, I don't know why.

I granted power of attorney over my son to my sister.  My son's father was pissed I didn't leave my son with his mother (until he was released from jail for a probation violation) but he was too irresponsible, too selfish and too desperate for a dollar.  He'd drop his kids off to any and everybody so he could run the streets. I at least wanted the peace of mind that my baby would be safe while I was away.

The first Tuesday that November, I was sentenced to two years in prison.  My baby was three weeks old.  I'll never forget trying to hug him and say goodbye handcuffed in that courtroom.  Seeing his face gave me this overwhelming sense of peace but crushed my heart at the same time.  That tore me apart.  To this day, I've never felt a greater pain than I did the nights I cried for my baby... never.  I cried for him every single night... every one.  My sister would send me pictures of his chubby little face that I'd stare at endlessly and I'd call home just to listen to him breath, cry, whatever, it didn't matter I just wanted to hear him; to know he was there. My dreams of him were so real, I'd swear I could smell his hair.  I hated being awake.   I wanted to hold him so bad. 

A couple of weeks after being in prison, I went to shower and realized the milk from my breasts had dried out.  I cried silently in the shower but inside I was screaming, yelling, losing more of myself.  The smell of my milk reminded me of my baby. In a way, it still made me feel close to him.  That was all I had.  I felt so empty and hurt.  Physically, it pained me to be awake but I'd still pretend I was okay.  My soul was broken and empty.  I had to find God.

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