The Weight of a Life (final excerpt)

Thank you again to everyone who has read this short story.  It is a living document and is constantly in revision.  I do not believe any piece of writing is ever really finished until it is finally released from your white knuckle grasp and carted away only to be returned to you over and over in your sleep.  It can always be better and as long as I am my own worst critic, I guess that is not so bad. 


In 2008, I made the easiest decision of my life, a contradictory decision to Margaret’s to see her children as a product of recklessness; I donated a kidney to my son.  He was four years old.  Although not a cure, it would lend to him valuable quality of life.  I am not angry with Margaret or anyone in her position but I pity them for missing out on the soul enhancing love of being a mother.  I am disappointed they allow their cycle to continue, and for not accepting help when it presents itself but instead seeking escapes.  A mother like Margaret and the children she creates will never know the word “mommy”.   
I knew somewhere a cop would come across a child like Margaret’s.  A child with an absent mother and ask similar questions about their life since cops are routinely a bit curious about others.  Like Margaret, her own mother’s parental neutrality, a result of the call to the bottle, an abusive husband or just plain too much responsibility, won her mother over and Margaret came in second in that race, maybe even third.  She took to the streets to teach her everything about life, a belief that the world was contained within the four blocks surrounding her house.  I knew somewhere another cop would make an effort on a slow night like tonight to learn about another child like Margaret’s, her belly swollen with an unknown future, a cycle that continues from parent to child.  Somewhere in his questioning, he would ask, “Where’s your mother?” and I can, with certainty predict the answer; “Who knows”. 


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I figured things out late in life, like what I wanted to do, getting married (age 30), having kids, (36 and 38) and changing degrees about 3 times. Now as a cop of 19 years and in my mid 40's, I am finally figuring out some things. My first career or dream of becoming a writer is playing more in my head and daily life than ever. I love it. Thus the blog. It is all mine. I also love being a mother. They are all ours. I love my husband and as a cop, wow.. have I seen some things. Street degree. I got it. Let us learn together. I also am on She Writes.