Dear Brock

Dear Brock,

I was at a concert last Tuesday that had two of my favourite bands in it.  The first band – the one that I preferred – closed their set with a song that I had previously dismissed as being sad, but not super sad.  I had never really contemplated the lyrics overmuch, and had just assumed it was about a break-up or something.  This time, I really listened, and I realized, very suddenly, it was very much about the death of a loved one.  Needless to say, I can’t listen to that song anymore without bursting into tears.  It’s another thing that is broken for me.  I feel like I, myself, am broken.

I have never been an overly emotional person, but so many things mess me up now.  I think the worst offender is seeing bad parents (or, perhaps, good parents who are simply having a bad day).  Every time I see someone do something inappropriate near their kids, it just feels like a bigger slap in the face that all kinds of bad parents get to have children, and I don’t.  The other day, a couple of women got in a fight just down the block and started cussing and threatening one another in front of their young kids, and it took all my self-restraint to not start screaming at them.  I managed to find the reserve to go inside and cry about the unfairness of it all instead.

Seeing people pushing the model of stroller I bought for you (or hell, sometimes any stroller at all) make me cry.  Babies your age?  Oftentimes, that’s enough.  Toddlers and older kids not even close to your age, and sometimes even the wrong gender?  Yep, sometimes those get me, too.

The constant barrage of ‘what-if’s bouncing around my mind consume almost all of my thoughts in a day.  What if I’d gone into labour on my due date?  What if it had been a different midwife on call?  What if I hadn’t gone with midwives at all, and an OB had been there to receive me?  Sometimes, I even wonder if you died because you were too active in utero, and if you were so active because I consumed too much sugar or caffeine.  I feel like my body failed me, but more upsettingly, I feel like it failed you… like I failed you.  I’m sorry.

I am trying so hard to do right by you.  I want to be someone you would have been proud of, but it’s really hard sometimes.  I am looking into schooling and trying to decide if I should go to college (and, if so, what for), and I’ve now pumped almost 600 ounces of breastmilk – your milk – to donate.  I even found the drive to attend a job fair yesterday, and got a verbal job offer; I’m just waiting for the paperwork to come through.  My next course of action is to get into shape.  Running does excellent things for me when I am angry, and will hopefully also help get me looking (and feeling) better, so I’m going to start focusing on that soon as well.

What else can I do?  I’m always trying to figure out what you would like me to do, if you were here.  I’m trying really hard to not let this ruin my life.  If I had my way, I would probably just spend the rest of my life in bed, but that’s not really realistic, now is it?  You wouldn’t want me to shut down, and knowing that is the only reason why I am still treading water instead of letting myself drown.  I’m not a very good swimmer, but I’m trying my best for you.

I hope that, wherever you are, you are proud of me, and that you know I love you more than anything.  Sweet dreams, little prince.

Love you always,