No Words Fit

 

Sometimes I just don't know, and there is something that reminds me, and it breaks my heart.  I get this unbelievable sinking feeling because I don't have a clue what to do. All I can think, is, I don't understand. I always wanted to be a mom, but not like this.  I wish it was as easy "oh mom just dropped two eggs."  If it were only that simple. I wish that it was that simple, with all that I am. But it is not.  It is one of the most complicated things that you could ever imagine. 

Mariska was fixing her room and the new books that she ordered are on her bed.  One of them is a collection of thoughts about being biracial and what that means. What are you? By Pearl Haskins.  What are you? I can tell you those words cut like a knife. What are you, how heartbreaking you are my amazing daughter!  I want to fix it, make it better I want to make sure that their hearts are taken care of, and I can't do that. I cannot make a single guarantee to make sure they will be ok. Do they want to talk about it?  Can they handle the truth?  How does what happened to me affect them?  I don't want to break their heart; I cannot be the one that does that.  Isn't it easier to tell them I was just a slut.  In all the places in my head that sounds better than telling them the truth.  Sometimes I have the conversation in my head, and I cannot say the R word. I don't want to attach that to what is most precious. And in my brain the scene plays out  he held a pillow over my face, he knew exactly what he was doing, and I went far far away.  I don't know how that experience fits in my head, how can I explain it to my children. My heart is heavy, I think that I always wanted to be enough, that somehow, they wouldn't have to worry about it. Like I am their mom I am the one who made that decision, I just want to be enough.  I think that somewhere in my head if they have questions that it means something terrible about me.  I think I find it hard to understand that need for wanting to understand their other half.  Maybe that is Nieve, and I wonder if Charles was white instead of black if that would have made a difference.  I don't know but I know that when I see books like that, she has questions and I want to be able to answer them for her.  I know she has made comments before that made me cry.  We were making dinner and talking.  I don't remember the beginning, but I said your white, don't you think?  And she said half.  I started to cry, and I said Really?? And she said, "well two white people don't make a brown baby".  The tears fell.  Why is a man that means so little a piece of who they are, this kills me and more than hurts my heart. Maybe it's the whole making a baby thing.  I didn't want what happened to me, but I wanted them more than anything.  I am not sure how I can possibly help them understand that.  I think there of pieces of my brain that literally still have a hard time that what he did, and I was pregnant.  Somehow in my brain I put what he did so far away, they were all that mattered.  I did the same thing with Bella somehow there is a connection that is missing.  I mean I know how it happens that is not it.  But somehow for me and my brain there is a missing connection that I don't know how to explain.  I can remember one of my Dr. Appointments with Dr.Albert.  Because twins are high risk, they had to do an internal sonogram to make sure I had a strong enough cervix to carry to term.  I must have had some kind of reaction, he made some comment about it not even being very big, that I did get pregnant. He kind of chuckled.  Like i was making a big deal out of nothing.  I felt so small and was so embarrassed.  I wanted to scream and yell at him, tell him that he had no fucking idea. I wanted to punch that chuckle right off his face and tell him that it wasn't funny.  I just let the tears run down my face and focused on my sweet babies.  I have never ever gotten that out before.  What an asshole.  People need to be careful with their words that's for sure.  I didn't ask for this and I didn't want what happened to me.  Yet no one asked.  No one asked anything.  I think even with Dr. Cardenas.  He was amazing, but there were red flags and not once did he ever ask anything.  I told him the date I got pregnant.  And he kind of blew me off, like yea ok.  But I knew, I knew that date.  When he was asking me about the father, I started talking about mine!   Like it took me awhile before I was like oh, he isn't asking about my father, he is asking about theirs.  All the things I couldn't answer and would quietly shrug, I don't know, I didn't have answers for his questions, and he never said a word.  I wasn't asking for sympathy; I wasn't asking for anything really; I just wanted what happened to me to be acknowledged and it never ever was.  If one person would have asked, I feel like I could have gotten support and help in a different way.  It wasn't until they were in elementary school that I even acknowledge what happened, once again so many red flags and not a single person asked.  I feel like I was failed in so many ways, always left on my own; made a joke of and I didn't find any of them funny. I don't know how to do this.  I am not even sure about all of the feelings that I have.  It's all confusing and so difficult.

My amazing Vincent and Mariska you are all mine and I love you more than life itself. You are the reason that I breathe.  You are the reason that I get up every single day.  I would do everything exactly the same to get to be your mom. You both are my everything.  I love you more.  I love you. I love you. I love you.

I heart your heart.