Yesterday was Ryder's birthday. He was all happy, of course, but I was not. I hate birthdays. They remind me of the beginnings. They remind me of things before they became miserable. Or rather when they were miserable.
Yesterday I was thinking of when Ryder was born. We waited and waited and waited. Then four years ago, I went into the hospital to be induced. Andrew was there.
My family was there. We were watching the Sox when my water broke. They left and I didn't invite them back. Andrew was there. He was probably more scared than I was.
They gave me an epidural and told me to rest. Andrew went to wait outside. I was later told that he was on the phone getting drugs.
I couldn't rest. The epidural made me itchy so everyone came back and I pushed. Pushed and pushed. Andrew was there. Ryder came and he was amazing. Our family had just grown to three. And that's how it was supposed to be. Three. Because Andrew was there.
And now he's not. He was not there for long after Ryder was born. It was just Ryder and I and it still is. I cannot grasp how that happened. It happened so quickly. He was there, then he wasn't. He doesn't even see Ryder now.
Ryder is amazing. I don't understand how he goes about his day not caring to know that. He loved him so much four years ago. How did that change?