18 May

I see you sometimes. You have my hazel eyes, but they’re greener. You’re tall. Someday you’ll be as tall as me, taller even, but your shoulders are broad, your hands soft, your fingernails lovely for a man. You have a voice that trembles the ground underneath, that gentle bass that soothes. Your stride is long, like mine.

You will never be, and I miss you.


I cut away the gates to my womb years ago, figuring I was done, figuring it was safer that way, that no child would again suffer my fates and whims. I thought I was broken, irrevocably, and unable to ever again be blessed with child.

My belly is bloated and empty with this craving, with the knowledge of where you could sit my son, where you might have been, had things been different, had I not held resentment at shovelling snow while pregnant, had I not let my blood boil with all the feelings I sheltered and ultimately felt were ignored. There’s a spot underneath my heart your feet would have sat, tucked in, cornered, had I been stronger, had I felt more loved, more worthy, more complete.

I have killed you with all of this. With the hate that simmered so near a surface of glass like love. I ruined where you could have sat as I was afraid, as I was alone, awash in a sea of blank mothering, left unmoored by the one person I wanted to lean on. You disappeared then, in the moment where I pondered you, and the recoil was so harsh I was left barely breathing, folding my desire into a tiny crane and letting it melt in the heat.

But I still see you. I see you in the tiny pink hands of the new babies I pass, the fat maw, the chortle on a shoulder. I see you, a puzzle I’ll never complete, the hands of a son I will never hold, my son, who I can feel in my heart yet can never ever soothe to sleep. I have burned a bridge I cannot rebuild, and left you, listless in a wind.

I denied myself this for years, believing it wasn’t me, it wasn’t who I was. But my body screams it now, aches for it at night, that tiny heart beating inside me, that life growing, potential in a clutch of cells I harbour. Now, when I want so badly for this, it’s the one thing I will never, ever have again.

I shall wish you well in the crowds that hold your spirit, kiss you nightly on my heart.

It’s all I can do.


20 Responses to “Son”

  1. sweetsalty kate May 18, 2010 at 7:20 pm #

    Oh wow, it looks fantastic around here. And Thor, this was art. xo

    • thordora May 19, 2010 at 6:42 am #

      isn’t this template awesome? I lurve. 😀

      And thanks. 🙂

  2. Bon May 18, 2010 at 8:31 pm #

    oh wow, indeed. like a requiem.

    the mourning and the ownership in this i can only nod to, with respect, and love.

    but let me say also what you know…this child of your heart IS yours. just exactly as you imagine him, for as long as you need to hold him. had he become flesh, he would have morphed immediately into something of his own, as they all do, even the ones we do not keep. the only children truly mine are the ones i merely imagined, and had to close the door to.

  3. flutter May 18, 2010 at 8:36 pm #

    You are inspired, I swear

  4. Karen May 18, 2010 at 8:37 pm #

    Oh my. Achingly beautiful.

  5. sarah May 18, 2010 at 8:39 pm #

    gorgeous. you mourn as i mourn, but for me it’s a girl who dances in and out of my sight.

    we could trade. 🙂

  6. Forgotten May 18, 2010 at 10:38 pm #

    This is my girl. My child lost after only 7 short weeks. My first. I can still see her brown hair with the copper sparkle waving like a banner behind her as she races through the trees.

    Oh, how I’ve longed to touch that hair.

  7. ifbyyes May 19, 2010 at 10:06 am #

    Don’t despair… perhaps some day you will have a grandson, and people tell me that’s even better…

  8. spleeness May 19, 2010 at 2:05 pm #

    This moved me to tears. So beautiful and so powerful. I bow my head, thinking too about your son and what might have been. Please don’t blame yourself… ::hugs::

  9. Cheeky Monkey May 20, 2010 at 6:16 am #

    I am left wordless by this, by its power and beauty and regret.

  10. Hannah May 21, 2010 at 7:07 am #

    Oh Thor. I’m sorry. I know you’d mentioned wanting a boy too but I had no idea how deep it went.

    • thordora May 21, 2010 at 7:59 am #

      I don’t think I ever did before even. I remember looking at the ex a few months after having Ros, when I started feeling better, and saying “maybe, one more, sometime?” and the shock, the horror, it just shut that part of me RIGHT down.

      Someday, in the right circumstance,I hope I can adopt.

      • bipolarlawyercook May 25, 2010 at 12:12 pm #

        Someday, I hope you can too– I know that the love and the ache you have here would mean that a child not of your body would still have all of the same love.

        (Also, I too just got the hacked email and deleted it, having gotten a similar one from a friend.)

  11. afteriris May 21, 2010 at 2:26 pm #

    Babylust is a very primal thing, no? And the tiny wordless parts of the road not taken. Little regrets wrapped up in big regrets. Very moving.

  12. maggie may May 23, 2010 at 8:23 pm #

    it’s impossible to explain the things we do in fear and the losses we feel with our children, unborn or not.
    but you come close.

  13. Jurgen Nation May 24, 2010 at 11:14 pm #

    Sunshine, you’ve been hacked. Badly. Get in touch with me, K?

  14. Sis B May 24, 2010 at 11:22 pm #

    Yeah, just letting you know your email account was hacked. Unless you really are stranded in the UK with no money and want me to wire you $2500. Then you’re just SOL. 😉

  15. Carin May 25, 2010 at 3:53 am #

    Thordora. I think your email has been hacked. I’m sorry to write here, but I have no other way of reaching you. I received an email from you claiming that you are trapped in England and need money from people to get back home. I received another email from another friend that was very similar, and her email password had been stolen. Let me know if you want the email I received from you to be forwarded anywhere so you can see it if you need it for evidence.

  16. ivyshihleung May 25, 2010 at 6:12 pm #

    I sent you a bunch of tweets. Pls check them out.

  17. Capital Mom June 4, 2010 at 7:46 pm #

    Wow. This is powerful.

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