My labor began on a Sunday and
three days later, on September 7, 1988, I had my first son. To backtrack 9 months….My pregnancy symptoms
began around Christmas 1987. With
optimism, I suggested the possibility to my husband, who was incredulous to
that probability. His skepticism was all
the more preposterous as he was fully aware that our equation of M + W – C =
Baby. The positive pregnancy results
were met with my husband’s responding, “It’s too soon and I don’t think you
should have it.”
We were approaching 30 years old and had
been together for three years. Categorically,
we were not statistically unsuitable of becoming parents. Begrudgingly, passive
acceptance of the pregnancy bordering on disdain greeted me for those 9
months. My husband didn’t attend a
single obstetrician visit. He was
uninterested in feeling the baby kick.
He mocked the prenatal classes.
He was abusive. He was
insulting. He was selfish. He was unsupportive during labor, eventually
leaving for several hours to “get a good meal and smoke a big, fat doobie”. When he returned to the hospital, he was so
high that the labor nurses kept him from the room during my emergency c-section
until my son was born. In recovery, my
husband’s first words to me were, “It’s good that you had a c-section; now you
won’t be all stretched out.”
In the years that followed my son’s
birth, the abuse escalated in a cyclical manner, and two other babies were
conceived. One pregnancy was blandly accepted
but the final pregnancy was met with furious insistence of an abortion, which I
flatly refused and fiercely protected.
Despite three gorgeous children, my husband’s behavior consistently
became crueler until I knew if I stayed with him, I would die. However, filing for divorce was a huge blow to
my husband’s narcissistic ego. If his
own wife didn’t want him, what was he worth?
The only way he could remedy that was to punish. He had the money, the means and the burning
vengeance to take everything from me. Unsatisfied,
his sociopathic need for retaliation bled into our children. Our oldest son was devoted to me and
cognizant of his father’s malice, but not savvy enough to eventually be sucked
into his father’s illness, coerced by monetary devices, and cut off
communication with me. When his father
mocked him, accused him and announced, “My son is gay!” because he did not need
to follow his father’s philandering footsteps, my son was unable to face the vicious
ridicule, met a girl and got her pregnant.
Discovering the pregnancy through gossip,
my attempts to reach out to my son were in vain as he was so fully enmeshed by
his father’s control. As abuse is
cyclical, I could only see a future for my son and his soon-to-be-born son
mirroring his father’s destiny…a future of pain and retaliation and hurt.
On September 4, 2010, two days before
my grandson’s birth, and three day’s before my son’s 22nd birthday,
I wrote this poem. It was recently
selected as a third prize recipient in an internet poetry competition. So, I felt it should be shared in this forum.
A woman knew a baby, growing within
her, destined to be cherished.
A woman felt her baby moving, hoping to
share the signs of life with his father who remained distant, cold,
uninterested.
A woman knew a newborn, with eyes of
melting chocolate and pink cherubic cheeks,
A woman felt her baby boy take hold of
her heart, learning how deeply she could love.
A woman knew a little boy, all dimples,
tight hugs and laughter.
A woman felt the pain as her son’s
father turned away to pursue interests elsewhere.
A woman knew a boy, wise beyond his
years, who began to see and speak the truth.
A woman felt the love whispered by her
son sharing his thoughts that it was only his mom he knew he could depend upon.
A woman knew a young man, but now, only
from photographs and memories.
A woman felt the severed bonds
committed by the man she left, bent on revenge despite the damage inflicted on
the child they created.
A woman knew a teenaged boy, nostalgic
for his mother’s love, yet tainted by his father’s false words and deeds.
A woman felt the joy of reunion,
mingling with the pain of the years lost through no fault of her own.
A woman knew her son, once sweet and
kind and giving and embracing life’s lessons.
A woman felt the despair on the day her
son revealed he had become his father.
A woman knew a father-to-be, and hoped his son would be like the little boy she
once knew.
A woman felt an ache in her heart as
she prayed the baby would not follow in his father’s footsteps.
A woman knew of a young father, molded
from his own father’s anger, who would someday lose his son and feel the agony
of unfounded loss.
A woman felt the anguish of losing a
son who remained very much alive, just without her.
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