He isn’t mine, but I am still his

I’m having a hard time today, and I’m feeling very defeated.

I feel strangely similar to how I did 8 years ago, after my son was born, and I had to say goodbye.

I feel that way now. After what happened on his birthday this year, where it was made clear to me that yes, he does know who I am and yes, he probably does care…it connected us in some way.

I always love him and think of him, and as much as I always hoped he felted positive regard for me as well…actually knowing that he does in fact…care, or think about me in some way…I don’t know. I guess I wish he didn’t. It’s harder to protect myself now. It’s harder to keep him emotionally distant.

He’s no more my child than he ever has been. He’s my son, but I am not his parent. But I swear…seeing a pile of things I sent him for his birthday in a picture with him in it…knowing he cared, and I was there…it changed something for me.

I can’t ignore the fact that on some level, and I don’t know what level…he does need me. And he does care.

And that really hurts, because he’s not mine.

I’ve lost him before. I’ve lived the entirety of his life without him, and it has destroyed some really significant parts of me that would never be okay again. I know what it feels like to lose him… in those first days and months and years of grief…

It almost feels like I’m setting myself up to feel that way again. It feels like I’m setting myself up to lose.

He’ll never be mine in the way I so desperately wish that he was. Yet, in some strange way, I am still his.

It feels so complicated, and so big, and so…hard. But I think I just figured out why I feel so…everything…about this.

He is not mine, but I am still his. His only mom.

And there’s not a world where that doesn’t hurt. Or at least, where it isn’t insanely complicated.