She called. And though quiet on the other end, her silence spoke words that I digest this very day. Had I paid more attention to the signs - or took a moment to actually acknowledge the fact that her behavior had changed, then maybe (just, maybe) I would have been able to sense the bomb that was about to befall me.
6 months prior to this, she and I had met - cupid's own sense of humor wrought from New Orleans summer heat exhaustion, I'm sure. We met and immediately understood the physical attraction for one another. This same attraction would weave our caramel bodies in lustful, heated, unprotected indulgence for most if not all of that memorable summer. She was older, by 4 years. A 17 year old kid like me was more than willing to satisfy his desires while learning several tricks along the way. She pampered me. She cooked for me. We wound up living together in a world that was completely one of our own creation. Corny I know, but it was as if time, for us, stood still.
It was in this same fictitious state of being that we also lost our true sense of reality and the decisions that came along with being foolishly enamored with someone else. We forgot that after this summer of working together, living together, making love-sick decisions together, we'd have to return to our realities - to the places where consequence is always the twin brother to action. I, particularly, could not comprehend that any one decision I made in that fantasy could materialize into something dreadful once all the smoke and mirrors disappeared.
I was wrong. Dead wrong.
It was that silence on the other side of the phone that was a cold reminder to me that my summer of immature decisions had gained speed and caught up with me. The last interaction she and I had was sad. She had an appetite change, only wanting rice because much else made her very ill. In concern for her health, she decided that she would seek doctor's care as soon as she returned to Pennsylvania. The details were left out, so I assumed it to be too personal a matter for me to "dig deep." And yet, that ignorance or apathy, I'd assume, is the single most regrettable decision I have ever made.
She sniffed and broke the silence. And as soon as I began to speak, she broke down. A flood of tears were expressed through murmurs, choking and sniffling. And it was there, in that moment, that those two worlds converged. Don't ask me why, up to that point, I had no clue about the contents of the call. But it became painfully clear that I "made" more than love that summer. And she corrected our creation in a doctor's visit that would forever give me nightmares.
It was a boy.
I've seen his face a million times in my dreams. And while I have forgiven her selfish, one-sided decision, it took me years to recognize that I haven't (and will probably never) forgive myself.
So, where's my Happy Father's Day? When mothers lose babies to miscarriage, there are rituals and candle light vigils, all done to honor the life of what could be. Nevertheless, society neglects man as a feelings creature. We just don't get that luxury. We also don't get recognition as fathers when our unborn children die. I understand women's rights to her body but there is no reconciliation of this situation taking a man under consideration.
And because of this, he is gone - forever. Now, please, don't look to pity me. I am hard enough on myself as is. Some have challenged me to look at my life now without the responsibility of a child. I get that. However, I have been taught that children are blessings. If that is truly the case, then I have lost an irreplaceable blessing. And I am given the painful reminder every year about how much of a regrettable mishap I am a part of.
In my own little way, I still celebrate today - as a Father in the making. I just hope that one day, I can see his real face instead of the ghost of an unborn one that has plagued me in this lifetime.
Here's to being the inadvertent inheritor of my own bad decisions.
Cheers.
