A surreal moment burned into my brain forever.

But I doubt the boy child recollects…

We end up damaging our children in the oddest, accidental ways.

When the boy was three, I had a stomach flu. He walked into the bathroom and on the counter was a sheet of nicotine lozenges -bubble packed and child proof — and he picked them up and handed them to me as I sat over the toilet waiting to throw up. He said, “Medicine, Mama.”

It was heartbreakingly sweet and totally innocent on both our parts.

The next day, his father had me escorted away by police officers. There had been a blow up and I had tried to cut my wrists. The kids were at their grandma’s. When they got home, I was gone. And I never came back. He had manipulated the system and I didn’t see my children for 4 months.

Both of us were to blame for the preceeding event; I was definitely in the wrong and needed treatment. And I was suicidal. His part is his business and I’m not going to rehash it here.

The point is that four or five years later, Alex told me that he had thought for all those years that the medicine he gave me made me sick and that was why I never came home.

All of that on my baby’s shoulders over some amazingly kind gesture. But he doesn’t remember standing up on that chair. Part of that is from his father’s brainwashing. Part of it is that we have no control over what someone else experiences within any given circumstance.

Anyway. Now I’m totally bummed and want to hug my child who is with his father this week.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

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