Four Him…

The way God intended, this year I should be counting your number of years on this earth. I should be beaming with pride every time you held up the correct number of fingers and loudly announced to your world, your age – four. But at times, the way nature holds dominance supersedes all other intentions. So this year, like last and the ones that came before, instead of celebrating, I am remembering you and all you could…no, all you should have been, with incredible sorrow and loss.

Today, four years ago, a baby, a burgeoning little person I so wanted had to leave. I woke up to a silence in my body that I just knew meant he (yes, I was to have a boy), had left this earth. When he left, he took my joy, my strength, my peace, my hope. He took my belief.

It has been an incredible up-hill journey since that day; but an invaluable one. My physical recovery took approximately one month. My emotional one four years in the making.

Before I lost my son – “miscarriage” was a word that applied to others. Before my ex thought it his right to place his hands on me in any other way than a loving, nurturing, sensual one – “abuse” was something that was portrayed on television, or reported on the news. It never hit close to home (no pun intended); it applied to others. Love, loss and hate have, since the experiences, forever changed the woman I am. Life since them has opened my eyes and my heart. Surviving them has opened my mouth.

I am done whispering. I am finished with allowing either my parents’ narrow-mindedness or ignorance or society’s penchant for blaming the victim to keep me silent in collusion. “I DID NOTHING WRONG!” I loved and nurtured my son and most importantly, I yearned to have his presence on this journey with me. I honored a man that did not deserve it – as much as I did not deserve his verbally or physically abusing me. So, I absolutely refuse to cower in either shame or fear. Instead, I will join my voice in absolute solidarity with those that are recovering, grieving or mourning. Four years later I am stronger, wiser and humbled. I am braver.

My son was here very briefly; but his impact on my heart and soul remains and will so forever. Finally I am beginning to realize that his leaving has taught me lessons and brought me realizations that his staying never could. I am this woman because of him. That statement is as true as I know I would have been that woman had he stayed. I thank him for what his visit brought to me and more so for whom his leaving shaped me into being. I can only hope he is as proud of me as I am in love with him.

It has taken four years – four very long years – but I have finally arrived at the place of forgiveness… for myself. I am just now releasing my anger at myself for “failing” – him, his father and myself. Only now am I allowing myself the right to live – fully and completely; finally understanding that participating in my living and loving does not betray him. Finally I accept that his presence served a purpose… his leaving fulfilled one. My son’s very brief visit reminded me of miracles – of life. His leaving showed me that even as we may want or desire something, at times, sometimes, oftentimes, either the timing or the situation is not right or ready for us.

I love him. I always will. As I share this with you my eyes are filled with tears of sadness, but my lips are curved in a smile. Finally I can release him. Finally I release myself. Baby Boy Wiltshire-Alabi, thank you so very much for visiting me – for loving me, for having picked me. Please keep watch over your old mother; I need you to. Pray for me as I do for you; and know that you will always be responsible for some of my smiles. Watch, as I make you proud…


That feeling that pulls you close

pushing you right within their light.

Not the insignificant statement of possession –

that arbitrary warning clap to stay away.

No; that irresistible urge to step closer

to bridge whatever spaces there may be.

It’s not carnal.

Nor feral.

There could never be an animal named for it –

for it is neither vicious nor timid.

It throbs somewhere between strength and weakness

calling you, pulling you, drawing you, pushing you, keeping you.

It knows your name and whispers it silently –

only you can hear.

It vibrates like a breath straddling the wind,

it demands your supplication.

It tolerates no refusal.

That feeling that trips down your spine,

skips through your soul and erupts like a volcano in your body.

It curves your back and bends your will.


A lover’s glance…


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