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You made me sick…

April 21, 2016

“It’s okay mom. I know he is just not ready to be a good dad, and that has nothing to do with me.” The wisest and most hurt filled words my son has ever said to me. So we are driving down the interstate and I realize, I stopped naturally breathing, at the mention of d.a.d. I am forcing every single weak breathe. This conversation is killing me. I have always made it so clear, my child, you are loved. Some times people are not good at expressing that love. Some don’t even care to spend a little time, regardless you are loved. I am still not breathing. I can feel my heart beating faster. There he is. Mr. Anxiety. I acknowledge his presence, he allows me take a breath. With this breath I have to fight back the urge to scream and yell and tell you your biological sperm donor is that, just that. He has not been a father. Especially not a dad.

Those words would hurt you, those words would shut down your beautiful, precious, little brain. Those words spewing out from the lips of a fueled flame of anger, they would destroy the world you have yet to discover. So Mr. Anxiety starts in with the sweats… palms, neck, for crying out loud my knees are sweating. I gather up just enough courage to say. “You’re right, baby”. Silence. Not a sound peeps from his lips. As the seconds drag on as if they are never ending I cannot help but say to him. “You child, are the single most important thing that could have ever happened in my life. You are the reason I struggle every day. The reason I have hope for another day to try. You are the best kid a mom could ask for.” He was already done with the conversation, no reply was ever needed, so I got a quick, short, simple, “I know mom”.

So you mean to tell me I fought back a full on panic attack and you don’t want to talk about it any more? How could this be! Wait! Don’t get Mr. Anxiety up off of his couch. Let them both rest. Let me rest. It has only taken six years of painting The Donor’s picture with only the palest, sweetest, and most gentle of colors, and the lack of his wanting to be around. This brilliant, compassionate, empathetic little human I am raising, sees that we don’t have to hate him. We just don’t have to want him either. This here, this is my victory. I am better for having seen the compassion my son lives off of. I am better for knowing all of those screaming fights and late night cries, they all gave you the strength to love without conditions. Without strings. You are capable of the most admirable kind of love.

Some day you are going to marry a person you love deeply and purely. You are going to raise children. I haven’t a doubt in my mind that you will be a 100% present in the lives of every person you love. That lesson wasn’t from me, but I am proud you have learned it with your head and your heart, but it wasn’t from me.

Though I hope deep down the sperm bank doesn’t catch wind of this, I will also say this with complete confidence. Thank you. Thank you for not coming back and continuously hurting this child. Thank you for quitting, and allowing me to replace your lack of existence, with love. You have taught my child more in your absence then I could have ever dreamed of. We are better for it, truly.


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