This morning my mind rewound the last 18 years of my life in a split second.  It was as if someone had pushed the rewind button on our life – so many thoughts, images, moments and intentions flashed before me.  All day, no matter how desperately I tried, I felt this overwhelming feeling of loss, or possibly guilt.  My heart was heavy today.  My mind in pure reflection mode.  And this is where it all began …

“This morning while driving my older son to school, I innocently asked, “Wow, guys … are you excited … you’re done with school next Friday?!?!” And then … it happened! I honestly felt like someone punched me in the stomach as the reality set in that next year will be his senior year of high school. I dropped him off at school this morning and watched him walk in with tears filling my eyes. I cried the entire way home. Yes, I did. And, you can make fun of me all you want. Judge away. But, as you are … just keep in mind that if you have little kids, you too, will one day be in my place. I’m not sure which emotion overwhelms me more … regret, guilt, the fact that I’m so proud of the kind soul that he is … Or, if it just hit me like a brick to the face that I was positive that we had more time … ya know, to fulfill all of my amazing intentions as his mother … the fact that I fail him, over and over and over. I’m not really sure … which emotion is ripping me up inside today. All I know is that it’s definitely one of them … or maybe all of them. So, Facebook peeps … take it from me … do not put off until tomorrow, what you can do today. Especially when it comes to your children. They will continue to grow … they won’t wait on you to get you S@&# together. They will just keep growing up. So, please … make it all count so you don’t have this guilt-filled brick hit you upside your face … when it’s basically too late. Live. Laugh. Love … Remember to absorb every single moment and stay present. Advice from me to you … trust me on this one.”

As I’m sure you can determine, this was a post I shared on Facebook – An “ah-ha moment”, if you will.  I was in no way, shape or form, looking for the validating comments that I’m a good Mother, it was simply an honest moment.  One that I felt was worth sharing.  For many reasons, I suppose.  This post, however, sparked a few conversations at work.  Some of the conversations were sheer coincidence as some of our guests were genuinely asking about my boys, in anticipation of the school year coming to a close.  Either way, it was a conversation of plenty throughout my day.  With each conversation, a different layer was exposed.  While, of course, I already know “my story”, reflecting upon it is always eye-opening.  Questions are asked about experiences I have intentionally placed in my past.  Today, like many days, I was asked about my boys.  At length.  Specifically my older son.  My mind has been racing with thoughts.  With things to say … So, here you go … Welcome to the beginning of my story.  In all of its honesty.

My older son will be 18 in four months and twenty-five days.  He will be entering his senior year of high school in about three months.  I am proud of him.  He is one of the most kind-hearted and forgiving souls I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.  I have always been proud of him.  Before I continue, you must know, that I never, ever considered him to be an “accident”, a “mistake”, or an “inconvenience”.  Never.  If anything, it has always been quite the opposite – this boy saved my life.  In many, many ways.  Over and over again.  He is and has always been one of my greatest gifts and one of my life’s greatest enhancements and inspirations.  He was my miracle from day one of my pregnancy.  The situation surrounding his creation and his life – Well, that happens to be a different story.  Through no fault of his.  I own the series of choices that created this reality.  And now, as I watch him enter another phase of his life – something inside of me is grieving.

I found out that I was pregnant on my 18^th birthday.  As much as I reference my age of being pregnant as 18, I suppose that is not completely accurate.  I was 17.  February 21, 1997.  The day that changed the rest of my life.  I was with his Father, celebrating my birthday with him.  On our way home from dinner, we stopped and picked up a pregnancy test.  I just has a feeling that something was off.  However, I was as naïve as they could come.  We were sexually active for only about a month and a half prior to this moment.  I even went to Planned Parenthood and began taking birth control pills late in 1996 because I had fallen in love and expected that intimacy would be the next step in our relationship.  It wasn’t yet.  We had only been dating since the beginning of summer (in 1996).  But, yes, I had fallen head-over-heels-in-love!  So, I figured that it would only be a matter of time until intimacy became relevant – I did the responsible thing.  The majority of my family didn’t even know I was dating him.  Those that did know, most likely suspected that this would be the LAST situation to occur.  He was the second boy that I truly cared about.  My second “real” boyfriend.  But, my first in many ways.  Including sexual activity.  It was a topic that was not spoken of as I grew up.  What I did know was that it wasn’t a good thing.  And, I was ashamed to have these feelings for him.  Yet, I did.  He made me feel something that no one else ever did.  He made me feel smart and beautiful.  Funny and special.  I trusted him.  Felt safe with him.  I knew him on a level that, I suspect, most people did not.  We were both young.  And, so in love.  Oh yes, there was one more catch – He was a different race than me.  In a time when interracial relationships were not as common as they are today – We had that one last hurdle to jump together.  Some of my family and friends were very accepting of this fact.  Others – Well, not so much.  Especially given the fact that I went to a primarily white high school.  Raised in primarily white towns.  I just never saw people for their skin color.  If anything, diversity intrigued me.  It certainly wasn’t a deterrent.  I appreciate diversity to this day.  He was half Black and half Puerto Rican.  He was my heart.  Plain and simple.

We settled in that evening.  If I’m not mistaking, we rented a movie and grabbed some snacks on the way back to his house where he lived with his Grandparents.  We were both certain that I was over-reacting and simply nervous that I may be pregnant.  To appease me, essentially, we picked up that pregnancy test.  And, I took it.  Immediately, it indicated that I was in fact pregnant.  I was scared.  No, scratch that – I was terrified.  Mostly, to tell my family.  To disappoint my family.  He was excited.  And this is where life changed for us.

I was freshly 18 years young.  He was turning 20 that summer.  Both seniors in high school.  I was living with my Mom at that time.  He was living with his Grandparents.  I had recently received an acceptance letter from Kutztown University for their Criminal Justice program and his intentions after high school were undefined at that time, however, I just knew that we would be fine.  Until I realized that we were not going to be fine.  I loved being pregnant with my son.  From the moment I heard his heartbeat for the first time, I knew that he had the kindest heart there was to have.  I promised him throughout my entire pregnancy that I would love him forever, protect him and work very hard to give him the life he deserved.  During those very lonely days of being pregnant – I continued to promise him the world.  They were the loneliest days and nights of my life.  I suppose that deep down inside, I knew that we were in some serious trouble.  My plans were falling apart.  As were all my intentions, and dreams, for my baby – for our life.  To say that I was terrified and in over my head is a severe understatement.  But, at the end of each day.  I had my baby.  He was mine and only mine in those moments.  I would watch him misshape my belly with his movements … I sung him lullabies, read him books and talked to him until I ran out of things to say.  I never knew love like this before.

I suppose that my 18-year-young self, appeared to be about 15 or 16-years-young.  In those fine moments that I wasn’t an inconvenience, if his Father and I were together and out an about, we were a young “interracial” couple – Expecting a baby.  GASP!!  I got used to the looks of judgment very quickly.  Some of those looks and judgment coming from people in my life that should have demonstrated an unwavering level of unconditional love.  I learned very quickly during this experience, those who loved me unconditionally and those who loved me on very conditional terms.  Those results haunt me to this day.  I’ll contain those details.  For now anyway.

Fast forwarding a bit – He was born October 1997.  A natural childbirth.  The moment I began to be stronger than I was before.  An experience that changed me.  He was the most perfect miracle I had ever laid my eyes on.  He. Was. Just. Perfect.  He was born at 12:10am, after a 14-hour labor … and he was worth every single second of discomfort!  I chose to keep him in my room with me – I held him and stared at him all night.  And cried until my eyes ran dry.  Tears of joy.  Tears of fear. Tears of pain. Tears of hope. Tears of heartache. Tears of love. Tears of disappointment. And tears of perseverance.  I just remember the overwhelming feeling of feeling so alone.  But, I had him.  I continued to make more promises.

My main goal in being a Mother was not to become a statistic of teen-age pregnancy.  A statistic of a teen-age Mother.  A single, teen-age Mother, to boot.  To fall into the pit of stereotypes that people seemed to so freely throw at me with their looks of judgment and assumed thoughts and opinions.  I never did find comfort in all of the judgmental looks.  Or, people asking me how old he was, only to begin calculating my age – in hopes to figure out, just how old I was when I got pregnant.  I still know that look, to this day.  So much judgment is wrapped up in those calculating eyes.

Fast forward, again.  I moved out at the age of 19.  For an entire three months, his Father and I shared an apartment.  I left.  It was an incredibly unhealthy relationship, and situation, by that point.  It was a Lifetime-movie- like parting.  It took me years to heal from our parting of ways and the incredibly heart-wrenching way he “loved” me.  With a lot of complicated moments within those years, we haven’t seen or talked to him in almost 13 years now.  I raised him, on my own, for the first seven years of his life.  Within that seven years, I worked very, very hard.  Secured my first “real” job within the banking industry, directly after having him, moved on to a cell phone company (before cell phones were popular, but they were on the rise!) – I was knee-deep in Corporate America shenanigans – Because it was the only place I could go to support myself being a 19-year-young, single Mother of a one-year-old, with no college education.  My resume’ was overwhelmingly strong.  (I say with sarcasm.)  I did manage, however, to buy a house by the time he turned three and began to put myself through Cosmetology school, shortly thereafter.  I worked full-time, went to school four nights per week, for two years.  My Grandparents watched my son in the evenings for me.  They believed in me whole-heartily and emotionally supported me – Every. Step. Of. The. Way.  Getting through school was I debt I owed to them for an eternity.  For taking care of my boy while I attempted to escape the corporate life and pursue my dream.  I ended up losing my job in Corporate America and took one hell of a hit!!  I fell into the greatest depression of my life!  Both financially and emotionally.  It was a horrible time in our life.  I thought it was going to break me.  And thought, for sure, that I would be foreclosing on my home that I had worked so hard to secure for my boy.  But, I was almost done with school.  I finished my last month as a full-time student and secured a job at a local Salon within one week of graduating.  I survived.  We survived – that roller coaster ride, at least.

My son and I always said, “We can do THIS, Right?!?!?  Why?!?!?!  Because we’re a team!!”

Through it all … I always knew that as long as I had him – Anything was possible.  Never my “mistake” ….. Always, my driving force.

It’s now after midnight … Six A.M. rolls around quickly.  To Be Continued ….

Good night and thank you for reading … Xo!