Talking to my children again

Big giant teardrops fell straight off his face. They didn’t even make rivulets; supersaturated tears just fell like boulders.

“Mom, when you get remarried and have more kids, you won’t love me anymore.”

I have heard many interpretations of the impending divorce and my part in it, but never this.  I had never dreamed.  A few weeks ago, he  had wanted me to promise to never get remarried.  I didn’t know the backstory, the back-thought to that request.

“Oh honey, I have enough children. I am not having any more.  I ‘m too old.” A little video clip flashed into my mind of when an OBGYN walked into my labor room and said, “oh advanced materal age, ” as if it were a dread disease.

Think faster, I told myself.  He is really hurting. You are being defensive.  Try to get past your feelings and get into his. That I am too old for more babies probably is meaningless to a child.  After all, this one grew up on geriatric Sarah and Abraham maternity stories.

“Honey.” I tried to gather his 100 pounds into my lap as I gathered my thoughts. There are only a few sacks of flour difference in our weight.  He didn’t fit.

“Honey.  First of all, I am not having any more children .” I sensed I hadn’t quite hit the target.

“Honey, no one will ever take your place in my life or in my heart.  You are a very special boy. I love you more than you know and no one  will ever, ever, ever be my very best, talented, freckled faced, crackling creative, lego builder extraordinaire boy.  I will ALWAYS be your mom and you will always be my boy.  My focus in life is helping you grow up and get where you want to go.  I am not going to run out and get a new family to take your place. Never.  No one ever could.”

He relaxed in my arms.  We talked a bit more.  I cooed a bit longer, stroked his hair and held him tight.

“Come on, “ I said spontaneously, “lets go do something just the two of us, before we have to pick up your brother.  Bakery or bookstore?”

We sat in the bookstore coffee shop and he sipped his soda and I nibbled his cookie.  He babbled happily about his next lego creation and the book he hoped to write and get published yesterday, or tomorrow.

Note to self, I thought.  Pay attention. They need more reassurance than I think, as I get swallowed up in my own emotions and frantic struggle to survive.  At their very core, they want to know that they matter and our bond, our mother-child bond, will not change.  They are loved and cherished; they are not the ones being divorced.


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