I Don't Even Know What To Call This One...
Like much of my life, I'm just gonna wing this shit on the fly.
Late last week, I started getting messages from some of my Bitchfaces. Lisa, then Kristy, and finally it hit the TV news.
SIDS caused by a specific low enzyme level…they’ve pinpointed the monster that stole my baby. They’ve given it a name, they’ve pulled that filthy motherfucker out of the shadows and put a Maglite in its face.
I sat here at this laptop and I cried, as I’m doing now. I mean, full-on, ugly ass crying. I fucking lost it. Then, of course, I wondered if Tyler had heard about it yet, and I didn’t want him to cry by himself if he had.
Above, as you can see, he’s still one of the nicest, kindest people on this planet. This is why I don’t talk about those days. No. Here is why I don’t. Fuck it, why start lying to y’all now.
I was at work when my baby passed. She was in bed with my ex-husband. This wasn’t anything new, we often co-slept with her. Yeah, yeah, say whatever the fuck you want about it, but don’t say it to my face, because I’ll smack your mouth off of you, believe it.
I got the call at work to meet the ambulance at the hospital. The first thing I did? Tyler was walking toward me and I punched him dead ass in his shit and said, “what the fuck did you do to my baby?”
Yes. I did. I really fucking did that, and I really will never, ever forgive myself. I swear on God, I must have been out of my fucking mind because Tyler was an amazing Dad. I don’t know.
Hand to God, I just don’t fucking know.
You don’t know how many fucking pills I’ve snorted trying to erase that memory. How many fucking bottles of Tito’s, how many times I’ve nodded out and shouldn’t have woken back up, just hating myself. Hating that the only time he ever needed me to be a halfway decent wife to him, that’s what the fuck I did instead.
Some people don’t deserve forgiveness. And as often as I have told y’all that, y’all always came with the back pat. Bet y’all can’t excuse this fuckery though, huh?
I tried to tell y’all.
And even after that bullshit, he still held my hand while I lost my fucking mind at the funeral, dropped to my knees in the dirt and tried to dig my child out of the ground. My momma hollering “Ape, God don’t…”, people just gasping and clutching their fucking pearls because I swear to God if you think I’m unstable now, you would have been a flat out fool to get in my way then.
The fucking way it ripped our lives apart, I can’t even start to tell those stories. Y’all would never believe it if I did. I was worthy of commitment, and I’m surprised they didn’t institutionalize me. I think Tyler wouldn’t let them.
A fucking enzyme. An enzyme. That’s what tore my family apart. My life, my plans, my marriage.
A fucking enzyme stole my baby.
I don’t even know how to feel right now. I’m obviously still processing this shit. I just know that for all that destruction, it should at least have a long and terrible name.
Well, okay, here we go. Butyrylcholinesterase. That’s the fucking monster that destroyed me. At least I can’t pronounce it. That’s a little comfort. That’s a goddam lie.
There isn’t any comfort here. There wasn’t any in the pills, or the Tito’s, or sleeping in that cold-ass fucking dirt while the freezing February rain came down around me.
There just isn’t any comfort at all.
That’s it. I’m done.
Love and hugs, and a mama’s terror makes her do some fucked-up stuff. Forgive yourself. You’re allowed, and encouraged to.
An enzyme. An enzyme destroyed everything. JESUS CHRIST. I’m relieved it has a name, but it won’t change heartbreak. I would have behaved exactly the way you did. 💜💜💜💜