He looks like me

 

While cleaning out the upstairs living room, I found an old picture of me, and it almost made me cry.  Vincent looks like me.  The same facial structure, the chiseled chin. My eyes started to drip; he looked like me and not him. It's been on my mind a lot more lately, as they get older. I wonder if they have questions or things that they think about or are concerned about. There are so many things that I don't know, but today, there was a relief that he looks like me. I think sometimes he wants to be as far away from me as possible; there is a piece of him, even if he won't admit it, that is more than angry at me. For what I don't know yet, but I hope that someday he will tell me. Sometimes he scares me, he is so cold.  I get glimpses of the Vincent that I know, and I hold on to those for dear life. When I see that smile, when I get a response to a good morning text.  Oh, I hold on to those. When I get that I love you back, that means the world.

I will always wonder what traits he got from "him". Someday, I hope to find other moms like me and hear their worries and concerns and hear how they go about life. With this, I am on my own, and there is no rule book on what to do. How do you tell your children they were conceived in rape but are truly the best things that ever happened to you. I will tell them over and over that I would do it all again to get to be their mom. My heart is often broken by him because I don't understand how he treats me. It's gone on a long time, years in fact, and I am often at a loss. He doesn't talk to me or engage in any kind of conversation. He doesn't eat with us and doesn't interact at all. Asking him to help with the simplest task is like asking for a limb. He won't help me, because I need it I have to beg.  There are just some things that I can't do. I am going to keep that door open and keep telling him how much I love him, and maybe someday he will reach back. Since my mom died, it's gotten worse. I am sure she filled his head with things that made me the bad guy, and I can't go back and change that. I have to hope that someday he will come around. I hear him in his room, and he talks and laughs, but with me, nothing. I don't even remember the last real conversation that we had. So I am going to hold on to him looking like me and hope with all that I am that someday he will be softer with me. I hope someday we can have those conversations so he can understand where I have come from, why I did the things that I did, and how I lived my life the way that I lived it. I love you with my whole heart, Vincent, and I will forever keep reaching, even when you have broken my heart for the millionth time. I love you just that much. I am sorry for so many things, and so many things were out of my control, but you are my world, and I want the best for you always. I heart your heart.