Aug

1

Help me. Stop me from crumbling.

red dress
Today I am writing a personal post in the hopes that it will clear my head and allow me to return to my love of blogging. Lately, it’s become so hard for me to write. Words have become both a shield and a burden.

I can’t help but wonder, if I hold them close will it make them less real? Perhaps, I can raise them high to shield me from the blight that I can’t hide? Or, will they become a rip tide pulling me further and further from what’s right?

Turning and turning, till my head spins, I fear the answers are more complicated than even I comprehend.

This year I lost a dear friend who was like a father to me. He was my mentor, my confidant and my surrogate “father”. I miss him terribly, especially now. I wish I could turn to him and say, “Help me. Stop me from crumbling. Hold my hand as I walk this dark road. Be my rock so that I can be my sons.”

But I can’t.

Instead I receive a call from my parents, first one, than another. The coffin has been sealed. Their words are just the tossed flowers on top.

You are not my child.

Their words are proclaimed with quiet ferocity. They continue but I can not hear. Buried deep inside, I hear the innocent wailing of that toddler child, the pleas from that school age girl and the insolent adolescent cries.

Cast aside so many years ago, I forged my way on my own. Friends became family and family foes till one day I decided it could be no more. So, forgive and forget, was my creed, that is till this last week.

You are not my family. You’re too strong, too stubborn, too everything. Your eyes aren’t right. Your skin is too light. You hair is not mine. This just isn’t right.

Prove it to me. Schedule the test. Pick up the bill and do all the rest.¹

They hung up the phone. No good-byes or adieus. Although, I did receive a text or two.

But yesterday was harder still when I reached for my phone to call and say, “Help me. Stop me from crumbling. Hold my hand as I walk this dark road. Be my rock so that I can be my sons” and heard nothing but a dial tone.

 


¹NYC residents require an attorney or doctor’s order before a paternity test can be taken. I’m currently looking for one to order the test.

 

About the Author

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Migdalia Rivera, also known as Ms. Latina in social media, is a single Latina mother of a teen, tween and 2 Australian Shepherds. When not blogging, or chasing after her energetic bunch, she connects influential bloggers with brands and PR agencies via her blogger network, Stiletto Media.

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  • Avatar Jeanette August 1, 2013, 10:49 pm

    This post is so upsetting and unsettling. I feel scared for you. What can I do to help you. Life is crazy. We never know what to expect. Maybe this will clear up many things you have felt throughout your years. Strength and clarity my friend. And I am a phone call away and I will pick up.

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