not a post for you - it's for her

I've held a newborn baby in my hands twice. When I say newborn I mean, still covered with amniotic fluid. I've held two children who are still taking their third breath.

It's beautiful.

It's scary.

I don't have the words to describe the thoughts that went through my mind as I passed my daughter/my son to their mother. There is a whole universe of thoughts that spread start from the previous two hours and leap towards infinity, as you contemplate what has been gone through to what will occur. In that moment you hold the life of someone else. In that moment you take on the responsibility of someone else's life. Their future will be decided by your actions in the next weeks/months/years. There is no end to your responsibility. I know this because I am 46, my mum is 80, and she is still giving me a hard time (I love my mum).

It's beautiful and it's scary.

I tried. I really tried to be a better father than I perceived my father to be. I really tried to be a better parent than I perceived my parents to be. I really tried to make sure that my children would have the skills, the abilities, the where-withall to survive in the world that I had dropped them in.

Was I good father? Was I good parent? I dunno. I'd like to think so but, even now as I type, I can see the faults I made. Maybe I'm not the person to answer this. Maybe you should ask my children but, please, wait a couple more years. Wait until they have had children. Wait until they can see what I did, why I did it, for themselves.

Two and a half years ago I made a decision. I packed one bag, left England, moved to Mexico. In many ways it was a selfish decision. It was all about me. I'd done my time, I'd done my job. My children were all grown up, they didn't want my advice (notice I didn't say need). My ex-wife was living a life apart from me and I had made sure she was financially secure. I looked around at my life, saw that I was living it for other people. I wasn't living my life for me. I was 46 years old and the light at the end of the tunnel was nothing more than a train heading directly for me. I wanted love. I wanted to love unconditionally. I wanted to be loved unconditionally. I wanted to be happy. Two and a half years ago I saw an opportunity. I saw the chance to walk away from one life and start a new life. A life that would include all the things I really wanted. Oh, it would have it's down moments, it's problems, but, above those, it would have the fact that I could be me. Me. Not the person I had become, the person that everyone expected me to be.

Two and a half years ago I was called Billy. This was after a period of being called Bill. It had been nearly 30 years since I was called Will or even William. I talk to myself, and sometimes I talk out loud, and I would refer to myself as Will or William. People around me would say:

Who is this Will you refer to Billy?

It was me and they didn't know it.

Three years ago, someone asked me if they could call me Will. Three years ago, Maria told me that she didn't like the person Billy, she liked the person Will. On April 17th 2005, I told Maria that I loved her. I waited a lifetime 12 hours before she told me that she loved me. She loved Will.

On November 16th 2005, I took her up on that statement. I packed one bag, caught a plane flight, landed 18 hours later. My move, my decision, was selfish. I wanted everything for me.

Have you ever held a newborn child in your hands?

Two and a half years ago I turned my life upside down. I took a decision that would change my life forever. It was selfish. It was for me.

Twenty five years ago/twenty three years ago I made a decision to have a child. It would change their lives forever - it was the beginning of their lives. From that moment on I was open to the ultimate line, the line that they can beat you around the head with until the day you die: I didn't ask to be born.

Two and a half years ago I walked into Maria's life. I made that decision. Oh, she will tell you she wanted it, she will tell you that it was her decision as well, but, let's be honest, I could have not come. I could have stayed in my life. No, two and a half years ago I held a newborn person in my hands. Two and a half years ago I decided, in a totally selfish way, that this was the way my life was going to go. I dragged Maria on board for the ride.

I fuck up. I fuck up big stylee. Sometimes, I just don't get it. I can be a bit crap that way.

When a child is born, you have a responsibility to that child. When you ask someone to throw away their life and join you on their wild and crazy ride, you have a responsibility to that person. What I did, what I have done, never counts. It doesn't count as much as what I asked Maria to do. Because I did this for me.

I just need to get it right.

I'm sorry.

Siempre y por siempre.

Comments

[(S)wine]

nice post.
(for us, too.)

[Croila]

Never done the hold-a-newborn thing. I was out of my tree on morphine for a day or two after D was born by c-section. And you know what's really shocking? I don't have any regret, particularly. Is that really bad?

[Vanessa]

Hope you two are okay.