I was robbed. This heinous act wasn’t at gun point or a knife held up to my throat. It was more brutal than that. I was robbed of one of my most irreplaceable and valuable possessions. It was violently taken from me. I was taken by complete and utter surprise or should I say ambushed. It sneaked up on me as only a coward would do. If I had seen it coming, I would have fought it off with every inch of my being until I could fight no more, and then I would fight it some more. Death crept into my life on the morning of July 16, 2016 and robbed me of my son.
Death didn’t only steal away the life of my child…my first born. It stole so much more. It stole my future and my parental rights. I have been denied the right of any waterworks I would shed as I heard the excitement in his voice when he would tell me he decided to make the love of his life his wife. I have been stripped of my mother son dance at his beach side wedding. The overwhelming euphoria of seeing his children come in to this world has been taken from me. I will never see the tears of joy running down my son’s cheek as he witnesses the birth of his own miracle being born. I will never be able to hold his newborn in my loving arms and stare into their eyes as I comment out loud how much they look like their daddy. No outings with abuelita. No school plays to attend. Sharing stories of his own childhood and telling him “He is just like you when you were his age!” has been BRUTALLY stolen from me.
There will be no holidays at his home. No birthday parties to attend. The happiness of shopping for Christmas or birthdays to find the perfect gift and watching in delight as he or they open presents has been robbed from me. No new jobs to be proud of. No more “Good morning, momma I love you.” Making his favorite meals has been furiously stripped away from me, as well. Everything that I, as his mother, am entitled to was savagely and uncontrollably snatched away from me in a blink of an eye, never to be recovered.
I will never find justice. This thievery….this invasion of my life isn’t something I can report to the proper authorities without looking like a complete nut case. “Excuse me officer, I want to report a violent crime. “No, I didn’t see the perp. No, I don’t know who would want to hurt me in such a horrific manner. A description? Well, it was hideous. It was a dark and evil being. Very, very evil and very, very ugly. It gave off a chilling and bloodcurdling feeling which left me paralyzed. Maybe for the remainder of my life. It came at me with full force and with such a wrath of maliciousness! I was horrified! I had no way of fighting it off…no matter how much I prayed. Please find it and when you do, PLEASE keep it away from my family!”
Oh, how I wish death and grief were tangible substances that I could get my hands on. I would use all the might I have left inside of me and hurt them like they have hurt me. I would lock them up in some cold, dark, ugly cage. I would let them die their own slow painful deaths. I’d stare at them straight in their hideous eyes, the same evil way they stare at me in the face everyday! When I hear them cry out in pain, I would cover my ears and slowly walk away from them. As they scream out for mercy, I will lend a deaf ear and taunt them as they have taunted me. I will hide out and pretend to be gone only to sneak up on them with a vengeance. I will make them think that after a few days of not seeing me and thinking they would be saved, I would reappear and laugh as I replay their painful events in front of them over and over and over again. As much as they would try to close their eyes, I would make them watch every single detail of their pain and relive every single moment. I would save every other parent of every going through this cruelty of life. If only I could…
I refuse to be a victim again….I pray that someone hears my plea