Best Hands of Your Life

Me and my Mommy :)

I thank God for having not blessed me with your presence yet. Because He knows that your mother-to-be is not ready for you, as she wants you to have nothing but the best. She, I, want you to be loved endlessly with no beginning nor end. I live for you even now though I have no clue when you are coming. I have no idea who you will resemble, or even, who your father will be. I pray, for you, and I, that he is strong, and that he is his very best.

Your mother now fights to no end to be her best person. She fights to mold herself into someone that today, she currently is not; to be someone that you will admire and love. Someone who when you set your eyes upon her, your own heart will warm, and eyes will shimmer because you'll know that you've been placed into the best hands of your life.

I have nothing to offer your right now. Nothing but positive words. My hands are clammy from fighting with myself so much that they've forgotten that they themselves have the ability to soften and be gentle. My heart weeps daily as she cries for freedom from her past. She wants herself to be relinquished from people, places, and things that she no longer belongs. So she writes, pours her heart out onto blank pages as she fills them with the honest foolishness of her young life and the sincerest dreams of what is to come. A dreamer is who your mother is. She dreams of life at it's best. Life at it's most gentle times. She dreams, wishes, hopes, and prays for a life for you that is noteworthy and God-fearing. A life that is well-documented and rejoiced over. A life that when you're my age, your battles nor pain will not surpass my own. For you, I desire nothing but the best. 

And while I am still learning this whole life thing, I look forward to awaiting and delivering your arrival. I've already decided your delivery will be a natural one, with no drugs. Spartan right? Even now, I feel the need to be aware of everything that pertains to you. I just know that I want absolutely nothing but the best for you and will see to it that this is what you're given - even now, when you have yet to announce your forthcoming or your arrival. 

Even now, you have been and will be placed into the best hands of your life.

Why I Stayed,

No one knows why I stayed but me. We reach a point in life and specifically in certain relationships where we've grown so comfortable with the bullshit that we wind up convincing ourselves that to start over defeats the purpose. So we stay. I did. I convinced myself, with his help of course, that I didn't have the patience or the time to meet and get to know another person and their habits, attitudes, likes, and dislikes. To learn someone new again. Who has that sort of time? So I stayed. "We not gettin' any younger T." So clearly, I was getting too old to seek and find and learn a new person too. I stayed through the cheating, lying, verbal abuse, and sheer laziness. I stayed through the excuses, schemes, and blaming everyone else for why you're where you are in life. I stayed. I stayed through the threats of if I can't have you nobody will, through the threats to knife up your wrists with our kitchen knives, stayed through blocking the door so I couldn't escape - to stay and wallow with him in his misery.


I stayed because I was the good girlfriend playing "good wife".


But eventually, that shit got old. Real old. And it started to stink and to wear me down. There's but so much encouragement that I could give when what I really wanted to say was "shut the fuck up and get up off your ass. no one owes you shit, not even a good fucking morning sunshine". I began to spend my days off at my mother's for a piece of peace of mind. I grew tired of my brain always working and working the majority of the time to keep him functioning.


A weary woman is not a happy woman no matter what she says. If she claims she's happy, she's fucking lying.


I was tired of redoing resumes and hearing the dreams of how to make these moves and build "our" legacy. Build a legacy when you don't have a leg to stand on. The irony was appalling. But my being so comfortable and being OK with it because it'll change, things'll get better was just as disgusting. As much as I was tired of working 16 hour long days at work to catch up on the late rent and past due bills, coming home to take the trash out, do the dishes, and straighten up the living room while he was stretched out in the bedroom, I'd convinced myself that this was as good as it gets. I stayed because I had already prepared myself that this was going to be my life.


Oh yes, I stayed.


I continued to make excuses and enable the behaviors. But, if I'd said or did what I really wanted to, my day and quite possibly, my week, or months to come would have been severely fucked up. My level of miserable would have been beyond 100.


I stayed so I wouldn't have to hear the bullshit. So I wouldn't have to be threatened with what I wasn't going to do and what he was going to do. The threats were just as empty as the promises but it took me a while to realize such.


I stayed, because while he didn't have a leg to stand on, I'd lost my original backbone and needed one rebuilt.


Don't get me wrong, there was love. Insurmountable amounts of love. But the shit was fucked up. I fell in love with who I thought he would grow into and he fell in love with who I was when we met. I fell in love with thinking I could mold him into who I wanted him to be versus who and what his reality was. It didn't take long for him to show me his real face, but I didn't believe what he showed me, so I stayed. And grew angry at him for my knowingly mistaking him to be someone he wasn't.


My mistake was taking my frustrations out on him for not being who I imagined him to be instead of admitting such and leaving well enough alone from the rip. Instead, I stayed thinking I could change this boy into the man I wanted.


And don't get me wrong, he put it down. On the regular. But I got it and other bitches got it too. Yet, my simple ass stayed thinking shit would change. And eventually it did. But, a cheetah doesn't change its spots like a zebra can't transpose its stripes. And change, well that bitch was a few days late and several dollars short.


Believe what you see when you see it. That, is the difference between now and later.


The love we shared was limitless. There was nothing we would not have done for one another - other than leave. We both knew we were both better apart than we were together, but we weren't strong enough for each other or ourselves to let it go.


But eventually, the weary woman wanted to be happy without the weary or the drama or the pain. She wanted to be with someone who she could genuinely love for them and not for her thoughts. She had to own up to the fact that lost trust and non-belief alone was more than enough of a reason of why she couldn't walk that well trodden road yet again.


I stayed because change was too scary. Because I misconstrued a lot of things for love when it wasn't about love, because sometimes, love just isn't enough of a reason to hang around. It's frightening to see the person you've shared your life with stand before you threatening to cut their wrists if they can't have you as if you're their property. There aren't enough words to explain the sheer fear of thinking you can't move on with your life because that person won't allow you to do so.


There are a lot of things that love is, but equally, there are many things that love is not.


I apologize for staying around longer than I know I should have. I apologize for not being the stronger one sooner to let it go so repair could have began earlier. But life is about learning and I pray that you've walked away with just as many lessons as I have without holding an embittered heart. Love is worth fighting for. But love is also worth letting go for individual repair versus combined destruction. We stayed thinking time really does and would heal all wounds, but not if you're not brave enough to stop patching up scars as if they don't exist.


To finally have let go is honestly one of the best decisions I've made to date. My individual happiness means the world to me and I honor it just as much as I honor the love we shared. But, the truth of the matter is that it was time. We'd taught all we could teach and bought to the table everything in our power, including the messiness. This was nothing more than a good ass chapter that had to come to an end.

Father Dearest,

The sarcasm runs deeper than the dislike. But so does the pain when I look back on life and realize all the times when I really needed your presence to be known, not just imagined. As women, we learn how not to "need" men. But as girls, you're life's best kept secret. Lucky me, the secret was a joke that I learned to heckle. 


There's a lot about me you do know because according to you, you made sure that you kept tabs on me as a child. You knew I was a wiz in school. That I enjoyed reading chapter books versus playing with the neighborhood kids. You knew I was well-mannered and polite. But all of these things were a given considering who my mother is. As you already know, Doreen plays no games.


But there's a lot that you don't know. And a lot that you unfortunately will not be privy to. This isn't about holding grudges or harboring ill feelings. It's about learning who to trust and who not to. And in this life, we're taught early not to trust those who we do not know. Trust like respect is earned. The fact of the matter is that you and I, we don't know each other.


As I push into 25 and as my brothers have said to me, "knocking on 30's door", I've been taking a lot of time re-evaluating relationships, including what little of one we have.


You remind me of the childhood crush who comes around every so often to see if we're still good. You come around every few years, maybe months to check-in. And not to my surprise or dismay, you always disappear. When you are around, things begin nicely. Reasonable conversations that aren't forced, but then, we delve into you being a shitty example of a father and your sob ass stories of the decisions you made as a child that continued into your adult life. And of course, how grateful and blessed you that the mother's of your children raised well-rounded, no shit taking, intelligent children who can hold their own. The little angel on my shoulder listens coyly and nods in understanding on behalf of humanity. But then, the little red devil bitch on the other shoulder could give a rats ass how you've spent millions on insurmountable amounts of drugs and coochie. Or about all of the great cities you've visited. And especially doesn't give a fuck about you wanting to get all of your children together under one roof and spend a day together as a family because you know that you can't make up for past times. Who-fucking-cares is what she thinks as she taps her pitchfork.


I respectfully get it. I know shit happens. It's a part of life. It's how we learn how to handle situations and people. But when that shit happens repeatedly, you are officially at fault. Case closed. And pity no longer lives here anymore. I was sympathetic at 15 when I knocked on my grandmother's door because someone told me you were there, and you had no fucking clue whose eyes you were staring into. Your eyes. Your eyebrows. The texture of your hair - all mine. How could you not recognize a face that resembles yours to the tee - just that of a pretty girl versus a battered man? I was sympathetic at 18 when you made promises of diamond earrings that instead of gifting, you either smoked or snorted because your arms have no signs of tract marks. I was even sympathetic when you apologized and was invited to be present to see me off for my senior prom and a guaranteed ticket to my high school graduation. No call. No show.


You consciously stayed out of my life as a child because of your severity of fucked up. I get that. And I respect that. I appreciate that more than what you may believe. I sincerely thank you for not bringing that bullshit into my childhood to further scar me. But, I remember seeing you at 2 in Adidas track pants as you gave me your half eaten bag of sunflower seeds; you'd came to the house to speak with my mother. I remember seeing you at 8 as I was riding with my cousin, on our way to a fair. You stopped the car because you recognized my cousin and saw that I was in the back seat. Your head was shaved bald. We talked a bit, I was shy, we said bye, and parted ways. The next time I saw you, I was 10, it was the summer time, I was on the steps with my Grandma and her best friend. You were walking by with your girlfriend at the time, who would become my sister's mother. You looked at me, and never uttered a sound. Never even slowed your pace to take a longer glimpse at me. I sat, and watched your every step. I remember you had on jean shorts and a baby blue short sleeved polo shirt. If I knew then what I know now, I would've wished for the ground below you to open up and swallow your simple ass. The next time I saw you, I was 15, when I knocked on your mother's door, but you didn't even recognize me.


At 24 and weeks away from 25, my focus is no longer on building a relationship with a man that I as the product of you, have tried to build and create some sort of closeness with for the past 10 years off-and-on. I still need to finish my bachelors. Travel a bit. Find a new apartment. Be a better sister, daughter, granddaughter, friend. Be a better me so I can be an excellent wife and mother. There really isn't much room for your bullshit anymore.


How can I expect you to be a "father-in-law" when you don't know the daughter and wouldn't be able to educate him on me? How can I expect you to be a "grandfather" when even now, with two growing grandsons from your eldest son, you're not even a constant presence in their lives? I've spent my life asking these questions. And now as a grown, adult woman, these are serious ass questions that require equally serious ass responses. Not excuses. Not stories of what you dream to become reality. No, just hard core truth. I'd fair better if you could say "I don't know if I could ever be these things" versus feeding my precious ears with bullshit of what you want and hope to happen.


I'm a big girl who's grown up in an even bigger city. Raised to be feisty and to shoot from the hip from an equally feisty and driven mother, I've faired off better than a lot of women my age.


I can't say I don't need a father, because all children need a father. But that figure may not necessarily be whose DNA you're made of. 


You've missed out on a lot and are missing out on even more. 


As human beings, we don't stop growing once we learn to stand and walk, talk, count, and recite our ABCs. Yes, those are momentous events, but, they don't stop there. We grow and obtain jobs that lead to careers and success that deserve to be celebrated. We grow and lead lives that may not necessarily be ideal, but, to conquer struggles and downfalls too deserve to be celebrated. We become parents and wedded partners. Because you were never around, my father figures have been replaced several times in my life. At 6, my favorite uncle was locked up on the same day my great-grandfather died. My grandfather, who is my favorite man dead or alive, died when I was 9. And the man I grew up calling Daddy, I learned to love and despise. Women have primarily been my comfort in this life. And men, have come a dime a dozen. Including you.


I am grateful for your existence because otherwise I wouldn't be here. But that's where it begins and ends. I have no hatred in my heart, but if I did, you'd have the top slot. Whether or not we've reached our breaking point, I don't know. But if we have, I know that both as child and woman, I've done more than my share. And I pray, should God grant me another go around in lifetimes to come, that I have learned all of the lessons to learn from you and this experience so that I may not experience this ever again. Same prayer for you as well because I couldn't imagine being a parent and knowing that my presence in the lives of my children is not deemed a present.