Still Your Mommy

My mother left when I was 17. As hard as it was, I know it was harder on my 2 year old brother, Connor, who she left with me. The memory doesn’t fade the way people say it will. It lingers in sharp fragments—the sound of the front door creaking open, the way the air felt too still, too quiet, like the house itself was holding its breath. Connor’s small hand was wrapped around my finger, sticky from whatever he’d been eating, completely unaware that his world was about to split in two. “Just stay for him. He needs his mom, he’s still a baby,” I pleaded. My voice cracked in places I didn’t know it could, desperation clawing its way out of me. “You’re his mom now,” she replied as she walked out. She didn’t hesitate. Not even a second glance. The door shut with a finality that echoed louder than any scream I could’ve made. Damn. I had never even kissed a boy, and now I had a kid. Needless to say, I was not prepared. But it was okay. I had Connor and he had me, in our beautiful cozy home with its big yard! And by that, I mean my high school dorm and the courtyard. It wasn’t much, just a cramped space with thin walls and borrowed furniture, but we made it ours. Blankets became forts, the courtyard became a jungle, a battlefield, a kingdom—whatever Connor decided that day. And somehow, in the middle of all the chaos, it felt like enough. One day, in the courtyard, Connor runs up to a random guy and presents his stuffed T-rex. The dinosaur was missing an eye, its stuffing uneven, but Connor held it like it was the most important thing in the world. “Wex,” he declares. “Hish name ish Wex.” His little voice was proud, confident, like he was introducing royalty. The guy looked up to me and back at little Connor. There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, something warm and unguarded. “Reximus.” he replies. “Much more threatening.” He said it so seriously that for a moment, it almost sounded official. Don’t encourage him. I mouthed it more than said it, but the damage was already done. His name is Ivan. Ivan is now Connor’s best friend. Oh, joy!! And just like that, he kept showing up—first for Connor, then slowly, somehow, for me too. Sooner than later, Ivan and I became a “thing”. Though Connor was clingy and annoying, he never left, never distanced. He just stayed. Even on the hard days, the exhausting ones where Connor wouldn’t sleep or cried over nothing, Ivan stayed. He didn’t flinch at the responsibility, didn’t treat it like a burden. He just… fit. When we graduated, Ivan proposed. No grand crowd, no elaborate setup—just us, standing in a place that had somehow become home. I was so excited, my fantasy of our own little family was finally coming true. It felt fragile, like something that could disappear if I looked at it too hard, but it was real. Finally, something was staying. Connor seemed happier than I was, and asked to make a wish on the cake at the wedding. His excitement buzzed through the room, louder than the music, brighter than the lights. “There’s no candles?” His face fell in genuine confusion. “Oh, just push over the little dolls.” Someone laughed, but Connor took it very seriously. He scrunched his nose up. Thinking hard, like this decision mattered more than anything. Flicked the bride and groom dolls and screamed; “I wish to be a big brother!” The room erupted in laughter, but my heart didn’t follow. My stomach dropped. The joy twisted into something heavier, something uncertain. I hadn’t thought about kids until now. Not really. Not beyond Connor. I started to consider. Yes, raising Connor to this point was difficult, but it was also the sweetest joy I’d known. Every scraped knee, every bedtime story, every tiny “I love you” had built something inside me I didn’t even realize was growing. In that moment, I knew. Clear and certain. I was made to be a mom. … Sure enough, about a year later. Life had settled into something steady, something safe. I hesitantly picked up the test. My hands trembled, not from fear alone, but from possibility. I… Could barely breathe. Was pregnant. The word echoed, filling every empty space inside me. Now, Connor was about 6, and had this weird obsession with confessing using knock knock jokes. It was his thing—his way of saying things that felt too big for him to just say outright. “Knock Knock! Who’s there? Iyata! Iyata who? Iyata crayon…” Not funny. (Actually- very funny, but don’t encourage him) I bit back a smile every time, failing more often than not. Ivan and I figured what better way to tell him than in his own, corny, weird little language. “Knock Knock! Who’s there? Yurgunna! Yurgunna who? Yurgunna be a big brother!” He squealed and peed himself. Pure, unfiltered joy. Reximus took flight. The poor dinosaur hit the wall with a soft thud, forgotten in the celebration. I, was also over the moon. Ivan and I had a beautiful gender revealing, and the cannon! The cannon shot pink. The moment stretched, suspended in color and laughter and hope. We decided on the name Liliana. We even got her a stuffed elephant with her name embroidered on the bib. It was soft, perfect, untouched—just like everything we imagined for her. I bought every onesie in the store. Got her the nicest, cutest crib money could buy. I poured everything into preparing for her, like love could be stitched into fabric and wood. My bump got bigger. People told me I was glowing, said that pregnancy looked great on me. But it wasn’t the pregnancy that was illuminating me, it was the idea of having my own bundle of joy, Connor having a buddy, and being called a mom. It lit me up from the inside out, something steady and warm and unbreakable. I stared at my bump in the mirror. “You couldn’t come fast enough,” I said. I smiled when I said it, resting my hand gently over the curve of my stomach. A sharp pain gouged through my stomach. “Woah, ok, I didn’t mean literally!” I joked. The humor came out forced, thin. The pain got worse. Sharp turned into unbearable, spreading, consuming. I realized, she shouldn’t be coming this fast. She’s not even fully developed yet. The fear was growing overwhelmingly fast. It swallowed everything else, every thought, every breath. I called for Ivan. We quickly raced to the hospital. Everything blurred—lights, roads, voices. The pain was growing but the fear was so horribly worse. On the way to the hospital, I got my period. And with it, something inside me knew. When we reached the ER, I begged the doctors. Please save my baby. Please. They didn’t. Liliana was gone. In that moment, I had so much anger in my heart. It burned, sharp and consuming. I was angry at the doctors for not saving my baby. I was angry at myself for not protecting my baby. And the years of anger building up at my mother erupted. “”If only I was half as strong as you! If only I could look my baby in the eyes and walk away! If only I could just forget about that part of me! How could you do that? … how am i supposed to do that? How am I supposed to do that? The words tore out of me, raw and jagged, echoing into nothing. The doctors babbled something about helping people and I waved them away dismissively. “Whatever you need to do”. The ride home was silent. Not peaceful—empty. When we arrived home, Connor and his dinosaur, oblivious, piled up in bed and went to sleep. He didn’t know what had been lost. Not yet. I went to Liliana’s nursery. The door creaked open like it knew it shouldn’t. All of this. The crib. The clothes. The tiny socks. Useless. Every piece untouched. Pointless. Every hope suspended in time. Gone to waste. I slept with her elephant for almost a year. Clutching it like it could somehow bring her closer. It still sits on my nightstand. … It’s been about 10 years. We’re on the way to the amusement park with Connors’ new girlfriend. Time moved, even when I didn’t want it to. Ivan tries to make small talk. Careful, polite, unsure. “So, you guys gonna go on the roller coasters, or too scary?” “Oh, no sir. I avoid roller coasters. I had a heart transplant a while back, and I try to be safe.” Her voice was gentle, almost casual. Connor smiled, and Ivan looked at her curiously. “Well, kind of, really just the tissue, my donor was a baby named Liliana.” … The world stilled in a way I hadn’t felt in years. I think that was Liliana’s way of saying it’s okay, and she misses us too. Not gone. Never really gone. Maybe my baby had too big of a heart to fit into just one person. Maybe that love needed somewhere else to go. Maybe my angel returned to me just like I begged all those nights. I’ll be getting up there in age here pretty soon, but it’s okay. I’m not afraid. It’s nice to know that I will finally be able to hold my angel in my arms. My Angel; Liliana.