Dear Nephew,

You almost had a sibling.

Mary
Life Gets In The Way

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You almost had a sibling. Sometimes I hope it was a girl; I would have loved a niece.

I know you can’t possibly understand when I say that there was a time when I was unsure that I could love you unconditionally. In actuality, my qualms lie with your mother, my sister, whose fragile heart and stubborn mind sometimes infuriate me. See, I was fourteen when she decided to “take control” of her life, like most college freshmen do. Except, her decisions affected my future, and Grandma’s mental health, and Papa’s worry lines in his forehead. She was twenty when you joined our family, naive and doe-eyed under the anesthetic they used when they heaved you from her shell. We were given exactly five weeks of preparation between the time she revealed what was behind Bump 1 and the day the Bump was removed. We never considered any other options besides acting and reacting.

You almost had a sibling. You would have been an incredible big brother.

It was a sweltering day in June, and you accompanied Papa and I to my softball practice. You hadn’t outgrown your rolls yet, or your innocent smile. Papa got a call from Grandma telling him to come home right away, because Mommy was sick. I would catch a ride home with another family. Two minutes later, Papa called me frantic and told me to pack my stuff. We ran to the car; your stroller caught on the lip of the curb. I saw your life flash before my eyes as I stretched out an arm like mothers do to their kids sitting in the front seat when they make a hard stop.

You almost had a sibling. Sometimes I hate my mind and my heart and its incessant conflict of interests.

Papa explained quickly that Mommy thought it was complications after you. We prayed and sped. Prayed and sped. My favorite part of the hospital is the soap. Bubblegum pink and sterile; exactly how I wish to be on the inside. Mommy sat with a towel between her legs, color blanching from her face. The nurse at the desk gave you a stress ball. She should have given forty to Grandma.

You almost had a sibling. I am probably going to Hell.

It was getting to be bedtime, so Grandma drove us home. You fell asleep on my lap before we even made it onto the highway. We forgot your carseat in Papa’s car. Grandma got a phone call saying Mommy fainted in the bathroom. There was so much blood. It is a twenty-five minute drive to the hospital, so Grandma ate some cereal before going back.

You almost had a sibling. I never even considered names for it.

One hour of Hail Mary’s later, I got a phone call from Grandma. She was wailing, an action I often associate with willow trees- bent at the waist with long faces, leaves drooping, but somehow portraying a raw beauty. Did you know fear can come in two syllables and eight letters? Two vowels and six consonants to be exact. “Pregnant” was the word moaned over the phone, and instantly my spirit broke again. I was slowly learning to mend myself, learning to stitch from the outside-in, but a scissor got in the way.

You almost had a sibling. I have no right to be your aunt.

After I quieted Grandma down, my mind raced for solutions. This time was different from you, because options were actually considered. With you, we did not think. We opened our hearts like the kind human beings we were taught to be. I used to be kind, once. I whispered to Grandma, knowing that verbalizing my inner demonic self would change me, turn me into the monster I always knew I could be; the monster I always feared I would turn into, and eventually did. “She has to get rid of it,” I said as my lip quivered.

You almost had a sibling. I don’t know that I could have loved it.

It was 4 weeks old. It was not viable because of complications, and they had to take it out. Not even that deeply inside me, I rejoiced. You changed the dynamics of my life, catalyzed a deep depression I could never talk about because that would be selfish. I do not blame you at all, because you are truly the beacon of light in my life. You helped pull me through my comatose with each smile sent my way. But could I have rearranged my life again? Could I have kept my eyes on the bathtub and the knives at the same time while Grandma was home? Could I bring in an extra income to buy us a larger apartment? I tell myself I was just being realistic. They held Mommy overnight for observations. I scrubbed the floors around the house to remove the drip, drip, drips of blood. Grandma and Papa should not have had to see that.

You almost had a sibling. God has a reason for everything.

That is what I tell myself when I try to feed my self-righteous ego. I tell myself that I was being logical, and that God had a handle on this. I am convinced Lucifer has a handle on my life, because I am a monster. Some people say that love in infinite; I would not like to test that theory.

You almost had a sibling. I hope I never have children. I am scared.

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