The Part of Me

Tayra sat in the hospital room, hoping her eyes closed and she'd fall asleep. Desperate to feel once more the dreaded daily routine. Wake up to her son sleeping past 10a.m.. Her lecture loud enough to wake him. It was frustrating to watch a young man with potential waste his life in retail jobs. Although she can't help but feel guilt for his current state. Poor judgement in men, amplified evidence he grew up with the silence of an absent father. It was torturous for her to witness her son end up in the same struggle that once defined her youth.

Now in her adulting years, she can identify as an independent woman and subtle feminist. Her career and success have grounded the knowing she doesn't need a man for economic support. Yet she acknowledges a home is a familial composition and inclusive balance of femininity and masculinity. There are things she couldn't teach her son. Making it difficult to proactively avoid over compensating for the paternal skills she lacked. For many years her son's father was the love she wished for. He was an interesting man whose skeletons had souls and demons. They were not in the closet, but roaming around their home. Making their presence known when he consumed drugs and alcohol.

Like many women she thought love was enough for a haunted man want to change. If not for her, surely he would try for their son. But addiction is not a terminal illness where the medicinal dosage can manage or obliterate the ailment. Addiction runs deep. Mingles, intertwines and eventually takes over ones mind and body. It is not tangible, in that a person can simply stop. It takes inner fortitude and will to overcome. He was not strong enough. Ten years ago in the coldest winter of New York, on Livonia Avenue & Rockaway Avenue, Brooklyn, he slipped away chasing a high.

Tayra is now on the verge of a broken heart. Watching her son fight for his life. Maybe there isn't much fight left in him, she thought. Maybe, he wants to release himself from the misfortunes of her poor choices. It had been three days sine they exchanged thoughts. She was buried with work and meetings all over the city. Their schedules had not coincide. A brutal reminder of all the times she was told to live the moment with those she loved most, but never did. Tears begin to flow. Contrary to one of the many definitions of love. She knew love was not a choice. The love for her son was ethereal. She is taken back to his first steps, when he was a baby. Fast forward to the snapshots of his first day at school. Reliving the same warm tears through the acceptance he was growing up and no longer needed her comfort. High school graduation. She not wanting to call it an accomplishment, because it was a basic life requirement. His first heartbreak, and how she loathe the girl that rejected her son. She hugged him the whole night and told him stories of a younger version of herself. When one gets lost in the idea an aching heart will never heal. Her chest swells and Tayra sobs. She holds his hand, cold to the touch. The realization instantly heightens the volume of the room and a long unbroken beep is now audible. She looks up at the monitors around her and a blue line promenades along the screen, taking all of her with her. The need to live trailed behind. There with her, the acceptance there is nothing left to live for, when the only part of her worth loving dies.