Prior to adult writing time, I read aloud Jamie Lee Curtis’ book, Tell Me Again About the Night I was Born. Then, thinking about SOLSC today, I decided to attempt to write about being given my son. It didn’t work out so well as a narrative, so I switched genres.
Here it is, in a very raw form. I’m being brave in even sharing this here.
Staring at the clock,
ticking well past 5 pm,
the agreed upon time.
Confined to the stark, sterile room.
Being reassured that she hadn’t left with him.
A scuffle in the hallway.
A swollen-red-eyed teenager,
Holding my son,
in the door way.
Behind her, two more teenagers.
She shuffled to me,
as if willing her feet to move forward,
yet not having enough strength to pick them up.
Sniffling, she held him out,
her eyes, filled with disbelief about
what her arms were doing,
finally rising to meet mine.
And he was in my arms,
Andy hugged her.
I hugged her.
She bolted for the door.
I was left with the son I longed for, and a bittersweet pang in my heart. Her greatest pain brought my greatest joy. I can think of nothing more unselfish and generous than she was in that moment.
Unhurried. Finding the magic in the middle of living. Capturing a life of ridiculous grace + raw stories.