{{ SHIFT+CONTROL KARMA SPEAKS }}
JAKE BY DENISE “KARMA” CLIFFORD
I can’t stop thinking about the time when I first held you in my arms and thought, I wonder what he will be when he grows up. I wonder if I’ll cry when he goes away to school on the bus. Will he learn how to drive And pass his drivers test at16? At 18, is he truly grown? And the thought of how far away the day is that he will turn 25, on the 25th. Why this even crossed my mind seems trivial. But I guess when you have just created life and are holding a precious gift in your arms, strange thoughts race through your brain. Like when he turns 25 on the 25th, what kind of man will he even be? This small unique gift I held onto, looked intently at me, as if to study me. His eyes already seemed to have this strange sense of knowledge held within them. He cried at birth, when the nurses rushed him away to get weighed and wrap him, but honestly it felt like mere seconds, until he was clean, dry and wrapped and I was holding this content little thinker. Even his father asked me, “isn’t he supposed to be crying?” I probably replied with a sarcastic answer that went like “he must like us.” I was always good for those sarcastic comebacks, And in the last few years have realized my son has trumped me on that. This old soul who I swear had things to say behind that intent look, yet just hadn’t learned to say them, was to me truly perfect. I was lucky to have this 246
ROCHESTER WOMAN ONLINE : MARCH EDITION 2022
person in my life where I learned for the first time what unconditional love for someone was. Love and my own perception had been distorted. But oh, how I could feel love for this tiny little human, who seemed to already know his path. Strange as you may think, but even old ladies would stop me at the supermarket to tell me “oh, he has an
old soul.” I knew this, I always knew. Watching the transition from helpless human, to small independent fast learner was one of the best things that have ever happened to me. I watched milestones like when my son was able to hold his bottle on his own. The day he began to eat real foods, and was able to choose what it was he liked. I was there to hear
his first words, catch him as he learned to walk. I was there cheering him on. The best was when he learned to call out mamma, and realize that was me, and that I would respond to this word the most. Time seems to move so slowly, when the entire days are filled with nothing more than taking care of a small being. Yet here I am remembering them as if they are not even ¼ of space that occupies the memory on our phones. I still feel the helplessness of going all day without showering, or making myself look presentable, or even getting to go outside. I mean I stayed home, playing and feeding and changing the one thing that brought me such joy. Sometimes it felt like my life was useless, at a stand still and on hold, and for what? I mean, he learned to count, he learned his colors, he said please and thank you. The days revolved and the only changes at times were the decorations I scotch taped to the windows. Did he even really know it was St Patrick’s day, or Valentine’s Day, Halloween or Thanksgiving? Did he even care about the big red hearts in the window, or the turkey hand cut outs I made with the outline of his fingers? In the end, these become my memories anyways, not his. His brain doesn’t keep these ones, it will pick And choose when he gets older, Just what he remembers. And it is not a fault or to be blamed, it just is. I took pictures, and I recorded all the
