by Grace Przywara
For J & T
I.
About a minute
to sift through what termination
would mean: one less child
in the broken, breaking system.
A few more minutes
to feel out my own footing:
unsettled, unsure,
under-educated, under-employed,
unstable, unable to see that happy ending—
that’s a lot of uns for one more.
For a split moment
I thought I’d ask my sister but they
couldn’t and I couldn’t and thank God, actually.
Soon after
I realized what I’d wanted all along.
II.
Over time,
she said she’d send me
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
pictures
and she did! With pages
and pages of updates every
time.
III.
Eighteen years later:
May.
The second
I stepped out of the car:
“Hi, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.”
A four-minute
hug.
Warm, enveloping, better
than I ever imagined.
After
hugs, I learned more: 85 miles an hour
that kid drives.
IV.
Three days
of waiting for The Question: “Why?”
I’d said, “It wasn’t giving up. It was giving to.
To you. To a family. To the world.
I wanted you. I loved you. I love you.
Many years
I cried.
Many years
I tried to deal with the guilt
of being unready.”
Many years
of new guilt for
many years
of six miscarriages at the
eight-to-ten week
mark. I know these feelings
will probably never fully fade away.
V.
November
was our first Thanksgiving
all together. He loved noticing
the family resemblance surrounding him.
Now
we have a future. Now we have
time.
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