It's easy for me to get lost within myself. A comment uttered, a story read, and I'm stuck deep within the recesses of my brain. I'm dark and emo like that. I've fallen down the rabbit hole. I'm spinning and falling past pictures of me smiling. Pictures of me with lighter hair and one brown eye and one blue. Pictures of me, my mom, and a happy, regular family
Recently a beloved Twitter friend and her daughter went through a surgery to have a G-tube removed from the wee lass. I inquired as to why this was happening and it turns out her sweet girl was born at only 23 weeks.
23 weeks. Let that sink in a moment. Maybe go read up on their stories.
This affected me. It kicked me right in my subconscious. I read everything about them and cried for their loss. I then cried for the loss my mom endured and the brother I never got to know. At the tender age of 19 my dear mother was happy, pregnant, and engaged to a gentleman named Ken. They were just about to start their American dream when September 10, 1971 Ken died. He was involved in a car crash leaving his bachelor party, driving to the home they were going to rent. Months later, December 14, 1971 baby Ken was born at 23 weeks. He lived for 12 hours.
What if these events never happened? What if Ken stayed home with my mom? What if my mom was allowed a normal, stress free pregnancy and baby Ken was born and survived? Where would that put me? Would I still be me but 50% different? Would I still have severe Obsessive Compulsive Disorder had I never encountered my biological or step dads? The life I think my mom and I could have had but didn't get to makes me sad. She deserves more.
What do I do with these feelings?