I hate days like today. They are the absolute worst, but if I'm being honest with myself it's not "days like today" that are the problem. It's today. September 28. Today the twins turn three. I can't believe it's been that long since I brought them into this world. Two years, ten months, and seventeen days since I last held them in my arms. And it's still so fresh. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I swear I can smell them. Even after all this time. I don't think a mother forgets something like that.
The pain seems worse this year. Maybe it's because this time last year I was already completely miserable. The only thing I had to live for was Ian. Now I have Jim and Ryan, and Ian has them, too. And by extension, the entire Forsaken family, which is large and protective. It's a lot of people to be grateful for. And I am grateful for them. It's just that nothing and no one can take this pain away. And I don't really think they should. A mother shouldn't be able to turn off the pain of losing her kids. Selfishly, I wonder if the pain is worse when your babies are dead. Like, they're not out living and loving on another woman, thinking that's their mom. Does that make it better? Would it make it better if it weren't my own sister who they cry for?
I don't think anything is better or worse than this, if I'm being honest. Except maybe death itself. And because of that, I keep my babies close and don't talk about them much. Only my guys know that today is their birthday, and I like it that way. We had to explain the babies to Ryan a few months ago, and that was hard in itself. He didn't quite understand why we can't just go and get them. The kid even went so far as to say we could "just take care of it" in a way that left me unsettled to say the least. I didn't even tell Sylvia what today is. She knows about the babies and all, but she's got enough going on with the chemo. It seems wrong, somehow, to tell too many people, like the more people I tell about them, the less they really belong to me. I shared Ian with Jim, and now he's not entirely just mine anymore. And I'm trying to be okay with that, even though the last couple of months have proven to me that when Jim Stone says he is all in, he is all fucking in.
But this--this is too much.
I brought Ian in the bedroom with me for a little bit this morning before Jim took him and Ryan into the kitchen for breakfast. I just had to check in and make sure he's okay. The regular school year started last month, and Ian's only had one freak-out in class, which is a huge improvement over summer school. He hasn't wet the bed in the middle of the night in a few weeks, and he won't let me carry him anymore. Jim got Ian in with Ryan's pediatrician, and she's been great. I think the boys have a little crush on her, and if I'm being honest, I do, too. I've never once felt judged by her, and she's made it a point to work with the school psychologist to get my boy to vocalize his needs more. Still, despite all his progress, I still see the fear in my little boy's eyes. He's waiting for the other shoe to drop. And last week a kid asked him and Ryan why Jim and I aren't married and said they're not really brothers unless we're married. Trying to explain adult relationships to a nine-year-old boy was difficult at best. He still doesn't understand, and I can't bring myself to say anything to Jim.
Jim's good to me. And I'm grateful. Just like I'm grateful for everything I have in my life. If I look back at where I was even six months ago, I can see how much better everything is. It used to be months would go by with me feeling like this all the time. Like dying. Like maybe if my little boy had somebody else to live for him, then I wouldn't have to do it anymore. He does, actually. So I could be done, if I really wanted to be. But Jim has no legal rights to Ian, so even though he'd be better off without me, I know the system. I know what they do to kids with special needs like my boy. They'd contact his biological father since he's on the birth certificate. Best case scenario, that asshole doesn't show up and my kid ends up in foster care. With his issues? Nobody would adopt him. Worst case scenario, that piece of shit who knocked me up at sixteen when he was nearly thirty takes my kid in. I know nothing about that fucker, and I don't want to know anything about him either.
There were days in the not-so-distant past where I wasn't sure I could take another breath, because breathing was too painful. I never wanted Ian to suffer, but for a long time, suffering was only thing I gave him. The realization that I'm the only one he has was literally the only thing that kept me alive for the better part of the last few years. And now? I have two boys. And on normal days, I let myself believe that they're both mine. I love Ryan just as much as I love Ian. They both need me, just in different ways. Still, today I feel like loving this little boy will only lead me to a broken heart. And I can't lose another child.