A Mom, a Blog, and the Life In-Between

Monday, June 30, 2008

In the Stillness of the Night

Every night I watch him sleep. Every night - every single night - I spend a few minutes just watching him. Then I touch him. I run my hand up and down his back; I squeeze his hand; I place my hand on his still-babyish belly, the rising and falling reassuring me that he's alive and well. I inevitably touch his smooth cheeks and cover his face in kisses. Here, I can't stay too long, because if I do, he will most definitely stir, perhaps wake up.

At night, sound asleep, he is my baby still. There is no trace of the tantrums, the stubbornness, the knowing facial expressions. There is only sweetness and peace, and an innocence that breaks my heart.

It is this innocence that gets me the most. I see it so clearly in him; even when he is being rambunctious and challenging and bossy, that innocence is vibrating just beneath the surface. He is vulnerable, and at night that vulnerability is all that there is to him.

I find myself thinking a lot lately about that innocence, and I think about the ways in which I will destroy it. It's a thought I can barely handle but which is undoubtedly true. This that is happening to us now - how much of him will it destroy? How much innocence will my choices take from him? Does his age spare him any real trauma? What do the consequences of my choices hold for him? Will he one day believe I did something so terrible it forever messed him up?

My heart is breaking for the boy who will have no memories of the time his parents were together and were able to offer him moments that were fun and special and everything I had wanted for him - for all of us. My son will never know what it's like to live in a traditional household and I grieve for that. I grieve for him and for myself as well - for all I dreamed of and worked so hard for. I had a clear vision of the family I wanted -- and instead I'm here, writing these words.

The guilt a mother feels equals no other. For this guilt is killing me even as I know - know so painfully - that the kind of family and life I wanted did not exist anyway. I have a pretty good idea of what the future held had we all continued on this path, and I wanted to protect my son from that. Still, the guilt. The grieving. All that was. All that never was. All that will never be.

And so at night I watch my son. I touch him. And I pray. For guidance. For protection. For wisdom.

For forgiveness.

Labels: life part 2, motherhood

Posted by Tere @ 6/30/2008 | Permalink |

4 Comments

Balou posted at 6/30/2008 2:03 AM
this is beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. i'm sure he will know that these choices had to be made and he will love you eternally, no matte what.

Holly posted at 7/01/2008 3:14 PM
OMG, this is an *amazing* post. I think I will print it out.

BohoPoetGirl posted at 7/01/2008 3:43 PM
what a beautiful post. I have tears streaming down my face at this moment.

carlos miller posted at 7/06/2008 11:57 PM
Beautifully written.