Yesterday I received an email with new pictures and a video of my son. Normally, I would immediately stop doing whatever I was doing to devour these images. That’s what happens when you only get to see your child via media, once a month tops. However, yesterday when I saw the email pop up, I quickly closed it and really didn’t think about it again until later in the evening.
It’s not that I don’t care. Or that I don’t want to see how my child is developing. Or that I was too busy.
It just hurt too much.
You see for a brief, sweet week I held my son in my arms. I fed him. I rocked him to sleep. I woke up to his chattering. I tickled him. I soothed his cries. I was his mom. Not just in a legal sense or a theoretical sense. In a real, tangible way I was able to parent him – a privilege that has been out my grasp this entire year.
And one week ago, I let someone take him out of my arms. I kissed his cheeks, whispered that I loved him, and walked away. Not because I wanted to but because I had no choice.
There are no words for this situation.
