Aced

THE DARKNESS CALLS TO ME. Pulls me. Drowns me in its welcome warmth. It’s like a lover’s kiss, addictive, all-consuming, and irresistible.

I don’t want to leave it.

But I have to.

I’m going to be better today. I’m going to look at Ace and want to wrap my arms around him and pull him in close to me, breathe him in, love him till it hurts.

Connect with him.

Be a mother to him.

My sweet Ace. My miracle baby. My everything.

The constant merry-go-round continues. Colton brings Ace in. He nurses. My head hurts, my heart aches, and my soul tries tirelessly to be what I need to be for him. For them.

It kills me when I can’t.

Colton watches, gauges if I’m better today. Or worse. If he should leave Ace with me a little longer. If it’s helping or hurting. There are lines etched on his face. Concern. Worry. Disbelief.

My mom. Short texts. Avoided phone calls. Unanswered messages. I know she’s worried. I know I can talk to her. But I can’t bring myself to pick up the phone.

Colton talks to me. Spends endless hours trying to pull me toward his light.

“I think I’m going to skip the next race or two. Denny deserves a shot at driving the car. Besides, I’ll miss Ace too much if I’m gone.”

You’re lying. You’re afraid to leave me here alone with him.

And yet I don’t respond. Can’t. Because I’m afraid of being alone with Ace too.

The silences screams around us.

“I talked to Zander today.” He tries again.

My Zander.

“He sounds better.”

If I could feel relief, I would. But I won’t believe it until I see it for myself.

“I told him when you’re feeling better you’re going to have him come back over. He misses you. The boys miss you.” I can see the look in his eyes that says, I miss you.

I miss you, too.

But Colton doesn’t stop, doesn’t dwell on the fact I don’t respond to his unspoken words. He just walks slowly back and forth with Ace on his shoulder and rambles on about nothing and everything until his cell phone rings or our son falls asleep.

Or Ace needs to nurse again.

The endless cycle. One I abhor and crave desperately. Because it means he hasn’t given up on me.

Guilt eats at me. Niggles in the back of my mind. Confuses me. I try. I really do. I fight the pull of the water over my head, drowning in the numbness that ebbs and flows before I can resurface from its hold. I fight to come up for air for my burning lungs, before plunging back down into its depths.

A text from Colton even though he’s just downstairs:

Remember this one? It still holds true. I’m here. Keep fighting. I’ll wait. All of Me by John Legend.

A flashback of our earlier times. An attempt to lift me up. A challenge for me to remember the feeling. The love. Myself. But I’m so buried I can’t even lift my head. Or take a breath.

I’m so sorry, Colton. I’m so sorry, Ace.

I’m trying.

I’m fighting.

Don’t give up on me.

I really do love you. I just can’t feel it. Or show it.

But I will.

It’s just the baby blues. I’m stronger than this. Than it. I just need a bit more time.

Tomorrow will be better.