I woke up this morning-and began my day as I always do. I changed both of my childrens diapers-dressed them, combed both childrens hair, and placed little barrettes with bows in my daughters hair. They watched Winnie the Pooh, while daddy took a shower and I prepared French toast and fresh sliced fruit for breakfast. We put the children in the car-and they reminded us that they needed their blankets- how silly of us…those withered things are toted everywhere. Once everyone had gone-and I cleaned up after breakfast and made the beds; I secured my usual spot on the couch next to the bay window in our living room. I pulled out my laptop to check my email. A news story caught my eye and I clicked to investigate its contents more thoroughly … It was about Elizabeth Smart-the 14 year old who was abducted in 2002 from her family’s home after being tucked into her bed by her parents. A year later she was rescued and returned to her family. Now; seven years after her horrific ordeal she is speaking out. She stated something that I too firmly believe, "We all have our trials, and we all experience hard times, but I don't think we should ever let it disable us from what we want to do."

My writings are varied and reflect my doubts-beliefs and questions about the world. Each day brings me a new reflection on my past. I rarely speak of my past-and if I do it is in bits and pieces and of vague content. I feel as if certain things I have experienced sound like a bad Lifetime- Made for TV movie, and if I was to ever share them I would open myself up to judgment and ridicule. If you have read my hub remembering an Angel- you may understand my tangled beliefs. But when I talk about Dylan, I don’t ever talk about how he came to be. He was born on December 3, 2000… A confusing bitter sweet day. He was part who I am-which was why I loved him. He was also part of who his father is- which is why at times I cried when I held him. I knew his father very well- I considered him one of my dearest friends for a very long time. In school I was a bit of a loner; and never quite felt as if I fit into the popular society. I thrived when I was learning-but not so much when I was in a crowd. I was very quiet-timid and did everything to shy away from confrontation. I have always-and still do believe that there is good in all whom I come in contact with-I have never intentionally tried to cause someone turmoil or upset; and I would not change that about my personality-even if I could. My dear friend, the father of my first born, suffered from a terrible disease- this I knew and was not intimidated by. He had learned to control but not silence the voices in his head with therapy and a variety of anti-psychotics. But college life had distracted him and he forgot to keep up with his medications-after a few days of forgetting the cocktail of pills-he was listening to one of his three personalities-and now it was an intentional neglectful decision to not take his medication. I figured he was just having a trying day-or maybe I didn’t figure anything/I didn’t think twice about his changed appearance or the way he was carrying himself that night… I just didn’t think-as he and I both took a few shots of cheap tequila-and washed it down with a watered down warm beer. I was in a bit of a haze and treading on that fine line between being buzzed and drunk before I began to think- something isn’t right. This isn’t right. He isn’t right!

I remember being in a poorly lit room in the back corner of a house. It must have been the only corner in the house that was not occupied by drunken college students having a good time. There was a misused pool table with ugly brown felt in the center of the room-and it smelled like a boy’s gym bag which was being masked by Victoria Secrets Vanilla Body Spray. The smell of the room alone turned my stomach and made me want to vomit. I don’t know what he said or what I said in the moments before the moments I do remember about that night. I don’t recall how I ended up being pinned in the corner where the worn pool sticks were displayed on the wall. I don’t remember how long I struggled before I stopped and closed my eyes and took myself somewhere else. I don’t know what people said to me as I walked through the house and out the door. I do remember the pain of receiving three dozen stitches-and I remember refusing the little pill the nurse was trying to convince me to take. I remember feeling alone because the one person I would have turned to-was the one that had inflicted this upon me. I remember I did not cry… Not for months… I remember when we locked into each others eyes in the court house where he was ordered to a psychiatric ward of the mental health hospital-I remember feeling confused over feeling guilty for sending my friend to such a dark place… I also remember going to the doctor for my annual 5 months later to be told I was carrying another human being inside of me.

I didn’t tell anyone-because I didn’t want to explain. I let people think whatever they wanted to think without ever confirming or denying any of their ideas-comments or accusations. On December 3^rd 2000, I gave birth to a healthy baby boy. I took care of him as a mother should-I rocked him to sleep- took his temperature whenever he felt warm- and fixed his bottles. Did I love him? At the time I questioned myself often. Now, I know that I had always loved him. I was told he was seriously ill before he was even a year old. I don’t believe that I ever truly realized the seriousness of the illness or the situation. Perhaps it was my inexperience due to age or perhaps I just did not want to consider that he would not live to be three. At first he lost weight and then he gained it. His golden locks which had always shimmered in the sunlight, became dull. Even though his locks dulled, he did not. He shines even now in my memory and my heart. What I like to remember the most is the toothless smile he showed so often and how everyone that met him-loved him. I remember how he lived and how he taught me to survive. I was the person who held him first when he came into this world and I held him while he left. The ache in my heart as that moment came and went; is something that can not be put into words. To hold innocence in your arm as the time goes fast, yet slows to a crawl as you sit and talk and say how sorry you are that you could not take this away-that it could not be healed with a kiss-that you wish you were a better parent-you keep talking even when the tears pour from your eyes and blind you to his beautiful face. You are afraid to stop and take a breath, because if you do, what if that breath was the last chance you had to say how much you love him before he leaves you forever. When his chest stops moving and his heart is no longer beating-you feel as though yours stops as well. For any mother who has watched their child die-you understand that you died with them but at the same time-you decide you will now live for them, and take all the memories, joy, laughter mixed with all the hope and dreams that you had for them, you become a better, stronger, more determined, more patient and tolerant and motivated woman for this is not just your life you are living for it is their life you live, because they didn't get the chance to live it themselves.

Elizabeth Smart stated, "I know that we do have angels on the other side that we don't see. We're never truly left alone in our darkest hour." Do I believe in Angels- I surely do, specially now, because I am sure that I have a little boy that watches over me and the little brother and sister he never got to meet- and in that is where I get comfort, strength and a will to survive the most trying days and to never take a single moment for granted.

I don’t know if my life and the circumstances I have been face to face with are the reason I am who I am. Would I be different if I would have stayed in, the night of that party in 2000? Would I want to be? I am okay with who I am and although this is the first time I have ever put into words the darkest of the situations that have molded me- I am not ashamed of what I have been through to get where I am now. I am still someone who sees the greatness in all-I make sure that each moment I have today is all that it can be- I know how to forgive/although I never do forget- and I am not afraid to care or to love with all that I am. I don’t know why God allowed things to happen to me in my life- For a long time I was angry at him (God), because I was tired-I was hurting and I felt as though he was attempting to break me-or had totally abandoned me all together. But I am not broken, I learned how to bend and bounce back- I am stronger than my appearance suggest that I am-and have the ability to put things in perspective when life feels like it is too much. God has never given me something that I cannot handle- I know this because I am still here. Perhaps he has always known what kind of strength I possess-and just wanted to assure that belief to me.

So… My question to myself is- do you believe in Angels-In God? My answer is- I have no doubt that I have an Angel and he is watched over by God…