I’m sitting in the middle of my apartment with Logan in my lap and there’s like 50 people just walking around us, laughing and talking together in some big horde. I’m “comfort rocking” with my eyes closed, holding him close. When I open my eyes, there’s tears in them. The crowd parts and I look up and there’s his father, coming at me with his arms outstretched to receive Logan. I turn away and hold him closer.
“No, it can’t be. It’s not time, yet.”
By now, there’s tears streaming down my face and I’m completely sobbing. I stand up and start pushing through the crowd, but every time, his father is right behind me. I’m trapped.
“C’mon Mandy, don’t make this so hard.”
I looked at him blankly. Hard? HAH. As if he knows the meaning of the word. I give Logan a few kisses, hug him tight and he’s taken from me.
I watch as everyone in the crowd slowly leaves after him… and I’m laying in the middle of the floor, crying.
I go to visit him at his fathers house. I’m tickling him and laughing with him. Gosh, he’s grown so big. I feed him a bottle and he gives me this blank look, and looks as if he wants to say something but of course, he can’t talk.
I’m visiting again, he looks to be about three years old. We’re sitting in his room playing with blocks. They’ve got the ABC’s on them and I start saying what they are to him as if to teach him. But instead, he tells me what they are… and I sit back in shock. He gives me this blank expression and looks like he wants to say something but a small truck catches his attention and he scoots off to drive it around.
I’m visiting again. He’s about 10 and his room looks so grown up now. I’m talking to him in his room but I’m not so sure what to say. We play a game of monopoly and I let him win. After the game, he quietly puts the pieces away and looks at me with this blank look, opens his mouth to speak but quickly shuts it.
I’m visiting again. He’s all grown up. So handsome. I’m watching him go about his room, cleaning things… but we’re not doing anything. We’re not talking. He’s not even looking at me. He’s putting things away, oblivious to me. I keep looking around his room, seeing pictures of him and his dad, of Logan’s friends, of the life it doesn’t seem I’m much a part of. He turns around and sees me. He gives this blank look and says,
“I don’t know you.”
I’m back in my apartment and every image of my son is spinning before me, or I’m spinning. I don’t know. Every image of those blank looks and those words over and over. Through my head. Spinning, spinning.
And then, I wake up… bawling.
Is it any wonder why I don’t fucking sleep?