I Feared 15

Today is my first born child’s birthday, my only son. Today he is three years away from being a legal adult, three years away from mommy not being able to protect him from this cold world any longer. As I sneak peeks of my first love going about his day I can’t help but to feel like I’ve failed him in so many ways. I chose to give my heart and the inner parts of me to a man who couldn’t handle them. From that mismanaged decision we created a life that we weren’t mature enough to comprehend the level of responsibility that it would take to be successful. There were times when as a mother my only job was to cuddle and love this new life but instead I chased after and fought for someone to love me, who wasn’t qualified. I put the life that God entrusted me with in compromising situations. I allowed him to see me cry and fight. I allowed him to see me weak with no control of my choices and yet he loved me. As God increased the years of his life he witnessed me learning to love myself so I could love him better. What I didn’t see was the damage I was causing. I didn’t see the pain he was hiding. While I thought I was making the best decisions for his life it would be those same decisions that would later cause him to struggle to love himself. Although I’ve done the best I could do, provided him with all his material needs, I deprived him of his spiritual needs which would have undergirded his mental needs. So here we are, three years away from the worlds definition of the legal age of adulthood and I’m scared out of my mind. This is the age that I watched my twin brother get ripped away from me and our childhood as he would know it. Never to be seen again for almost 10 years. He suffered in silence while being told to be seen and not heard. Since July 7, 2002 I have feared July 7, 2017. I have feared the age of 15. I have prayed that Generational curses would not exist in the life that he entrusted me with. Although I’ve prayed and I’m sure he has heard my prayers, I didn’t completely trust the man I was praying to. So I tried to instill the fear of Sana in him. Stayed on top of his every move. Didn’t let him leave the house. I did any and everything I thought I could do to solidify his chances of never seeing the faces of men who’s souls were trapped behind steel bars, but all he wanted me to do was lay in the bed with him while his head laid on my chest and we made music with our breathing in silence. Today I cried. I wanted fear to be my excuse to throw in the towel because I failed him. Then God sent me a gentle reminder, Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. Even when I think I’ve failed he whispers in my undeserving ears;  You can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth you. So, I look at 15 and claim the victory because my father told me that victory is mine and my son, he still loves me. Happy 15 Jamir! You were, are and always will be, the Best Parts of Me.

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