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…

Respond to Four Him…

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