Running From Emotions… Christine McDonald
I wasn’t sure what to do. The only person who I knew would show up for me without a doubt was a drug dealer. Not because he cared about me, but because he liked the money I brought in.
I called him and we made small talk. A couple of hours later, there he was with a change of clothes, and, like any good drug dealer, he brought me a pipe and some crack. A motivator. He knew, as I did, that if I took that hit I’d be making money really soon to keep the crash at bay. He said he had some folks in his car, so he couldn’t offer me a ride, but he congratulated me on the baby, said she was real cute, and said he’d see me in a couple of days.
I continued to hold her for a bit. She clutched my finger. She seemed so peaceful.
My mind was racing. The more she stayed on my chest, the harder it would be for me to do what I needed to do. I couldn’t be a mother to her. I had no idea where to even begin. I had nowhere to go and no one to call.
I had to be strong. Many have said my choice was selfish. I, however, feel I made the best choice I could with the information I had at the time. I could give her the best by letting someone else in a better place care for this little life so she’d have hope for a future. Hope. Something that was so foreign to me.
I went into the bathroom in my hospital room and put on the clothes. I was careful as always when positioning myself in front of the mirror not to look myself in the eye. Then I brushed my teeth and put my hair in a rubber band. I found in the hospital room. I reentered the bathroom, shut the door, and got high. I exhaled and opened the bathroom door. I stood over the bassinet of that little life. I touched her hand again, and she gripped it. I bent over her and kissed her forehead and told her I loved her, but I was
too broken to be a part of her life.
I returned to the bathroom, closing the door behind me in shame, and got high again. I had to leave. My heart couldn’t take the pain.
I stepped out of the bathroom, looked at the little baby, and cried some more. I kissed her forehead one last time and wished her the best of life. Then I walked out of the hospital room, down the hallway to the elevator. I hadn’t even been released yet. That wasn’t supposed to happen until the following day.
There was a desk in the ER, and I knew that if you needed a ride, they’d take you for free. I requested a ride to the Avenue. I was dropped off in the heart of the hood. I had just abandoned my little girl, and now I was running to escape my emotions.
To be continued…
Contact Information:
Christine C. McDonald
636-487-8986
Christine.CryPurple@gmail.com
“Love your neighbor, all of ’em.” -Christine Clarity McDonald
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