I didn’t tell you the whole story Sir.

Friday, when I needed to curl up in your arms.

It wasn’t just a lack of aftercare, or missing my best friend.

Normally you would have never known something was wrong, but she is gone. My usual escape for these types of things is not in cell range for the standard Google Duo call to talk about my hefty emotional shit.

Nope.

She is floating on a boat somewhere.

But really, it wasn’t even not being able to talk to her.

No.

It was something else entirely really. Those things just compounded it.

I cried that day.

But you would never know.

It welled up so quickly as I was driving to get coffee I barely stopped it.

But I did.

And slammed it back down just as fast.

Shoving it as far away into a box as I could, refusing to acknowledge it.

It hit me so quickly.

All of the emotion, all of the pain. All of the aching emptiness that I have ignored for so long now.

They will be 13 this year. And it’s been so long, it is almost like an old bruise, it’s only sore when you poke it.

She is just adorable.

I’m absolutely smitten with her. I was a little more than suprised when I met her but so very happy I did.

And I can’t wait to get to know her better.

But, it is not just the sore bruise that brought those tears to my eyes.

It was the sudden and painfully vast distance between us.

We are worlds apart.

You have lived this whole other life, the standard American dream with the house, dog and the kids.

And here I sit.

A hole in my chest where my heart used to beat.

Listening to others talk about their children, their families, being a parent, and then they look at me, almost as if they pity me because I “don’t know what it’s like.”

You explaining what a good parent does to me. Like I don’t understand.

I’m not a mom, I wouldn’t understand.

But I do. I’ve been there.

Just because I didn’t birth them doesn’t make them any less my children.

It doesn’t mean my maternal instincts are muted or nonexistent.

It doesn’t mean that I don’t understand being a parent.

I was the overnight mom.

And I was a damn good one too.

I should have been prepared for it though. As quickly as it happened, it was ripped away just as fast.

But it still aches.

Couple that with the desire to have my own.

For all my years of trying, we were never successful. In hindsight, yes, it absolutely was a blessing. Very, very much so.

But still it was nearly 5 years of trying.

5 years of crying almost every month and then finally giving up.

Maybe I am not destined for that role.

God has bigger plans I suppose.

After all of that I wanted nothing to do with children.

But as I sit here now I realize that was simply a defensive tactic to keep people from prying.

It’s easier to say “I don’t want kids” then to explain how you tried and failed and had the kids that aren’t really yours ripped away from you.

A whole lot easier.

But oh, oh, my heart.

She is beautiful.

And my heart just melted.