There was this girl

It’s been a long long time since I’ve written any thoughts. For fear of facing them o guess. There are words that can never be uttered out loud

in the past, I’ve thought in terms of why me…what didn’t I do? What could I have done? Now I know that guilt is just one of the many vices to be found here. I do sometimes still ask: Dang, was there ever really a day she believed I didn’t love her. I NEED her to know when there is just one of us left standing, I loved her every minute of every day no matter what. No matter what I said, or did, or acted…no matter what I felt. The hatred the anger, bitterness, resentment. I loved you always. When I took your child. Again and again. My one wish on this earth is for you to know and believe that.

I don’t cry very often. About three weeks ago I was punched in the gut when o saw this girl, though. Everything came rushing back…she was probably about your age, same hair color, dressed in sweatpants, wearing furry boots like the kind you used to like me to get you for Christmas. It was the boots that got me. She had a bunch of tattoos, too, even her face was tatted all up. She had dark eyes, too, and a cigarette on her hand that she could barely hold since she was on the concrete sidewalk stomach down, barely lifting her head like a one-week old kitten—bobbling it around. It broke my heart. I wanted to scoop her up- I wanted to scoop you up…I wanted someone to see you and stop to help you. I did nothing. I came to work so I wouldn’t be late and I called a friend and I sobbed on her shoulder. I sobbed as I prayed she would get better, as I prayed you would get better. As my friend prayed over you and through my tears, I sobbed.