The Story of a Single Mom who raised her own Heroes.

 Oh, Philip, when you smile I am undone

My son, look at my son

Pride is not the word I'm looking for

There is so much more inside me now

Oh, Philip, you outshine the morning sun

My son

When you smile, I fall apart

And I thought I was so smart

- Dear Theodosia by Lin-Manuel Miranda as performed by Lin-Manuel and Leslie Odom Jr. in the musical Hamilton

Well, neither of my kids is named Phillip, but everything else in this song describes how I feel about my boys. All through my teenage years, I was told that I would most likely not be able to have kids. I don't remember all the medical jargon, but there is some kind of abnormality in my uterus or uterine lining or something. This is the reason my periods have always been abnormal and has caused other issues throughout my teen and adult years. So, I had made my peace - at a young age - that I would never be a mom.

Around April of 1995, I found out I was pregnant. I was scared but so happy. A few months later, we were told that she was to be a little girl and was due at the beginning of February of 1996. I told my husband that I wanted to name her Celeste Elizabeth. When I was a little girl, my best friend Terri had a Cabbage Patch Doll named Celeste and that name always stuck with me. Elizabeth was the middle name of my friend Julie, who left this world in 1991. Surprisingly, Steve agreed to the name.

However, in October of 1995, I lost my little Celeste. I was devastated and was convinced it was my fault. I blamed my defective body, I blamed myself for not taking better care of myself and her. It was a really bad few months.

Celeste is always on my mind, even all these years later. The internet username I made up, MystikCeleste, is in honor of her. And I am even considering using Celeste as my name to publish under. Every year, when the beginning of February rolls around, when she was due to come into this world, I celebrate her years. This year, she would have been 28. I often wonder what kind of woman she would have been, what she would have done with her life, what kind of big sister she would have been. I'll never know. But I do know that it is not my fault. I was able to accept that and make peace with the loss several years ago.

Sometime in April or May of 1996, I found out I was pregnant, again. What should have been a time of joy and excitement was one of fear and anxiety. Anxiety because I was scared that this baby would suffer the same fate as my Celeste. Fear because I was not sure if the father was my abusive, alcoholic husband or the lead of my department at work - who I thought was a friend, but used that knowledge and his position, to take advantage of a battered and very fragile 19 year old girl. 

See, when I was 19, I worked in the customer relations department at the corporate office for a company called SunTV, in Groveport, Ohio. At this point, I had been there for about a year. I had several friends there that I was close to and that knew what was happening to me at home. One of them was a guy named Corey. Corey was what they called a lead in our department. He was married with a small child of his own. So, I really believed that he was trustworthy - that he was truly my friend. 

One day, I came to work a shaky, crying mess. Steve and I had argued terribly the night before and it had carried into the morning. When I got to work, my friends could tell that it had been bad. Corey offered to take me to lunch so that we could talk things out. So, at lunch, we headed out. He suggested I drive, which - looking back - should have been a red flag. As upset as I still was, I should not have been driving and anyone that cared about me would never have suggested that I do so. As we got in the car, he suggested that we forgo lunch and just go to talk. So I let him direct me to a side road in the middle of nowhere between Groveport and where our offices sat, out by Rickenbacker Airbase. 

I won't go into details, but Corey was quick to make it clear that he was not interested in talking. As I drove us back to the office, I was in a state of shock. I did not know what to do, how to react, or how this had happened to me. Of course, I went through all the normal thoughts of blaming myself. I must have encouraged him and somehow made him believe this was okay. I did my best to forget about it and convince myself that it never happened.

Until I found out I was pregnant. The first few months were brutal. I was so sick, not just from morning sickness, but from fear of whose baby this was and keeping the secret of what had happened to me. Eventually, people started asking questions as to why I was so sick. It was also being noted that I was losing weight, not gaining. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore and started talking to family about what had happened. 

Everyone had their opinions and advice, of course. Many people thought I should terminate the pregnancy. The consensus was that the pregnancy was not healthy for me and I was still traumatized from the loss of my daughter. People seemed to think I was too fragile to handle what this pregnancy would bring me. 

In a shocking twist, Steve did not want me to end the pregnancy. When I told him what had happened, he was supportive and loving. I know I talk a lot of shit about Steve being an alcoholic and abusive. Those things are very true and completely connected. What I don't say is that, when he was sober, Steve was a great guy. He was loving, he was attentive, he was funny, and he had his moments where he did take good care of me. The problem was that he was not sober that often. 

But he was when we talked about the pregnancy. And, in that moment, he wanted the baby as much as I did. Long before I had talked to him, I had decided that I wanted to keep this baby. I could feel him growing and taking on life. He was part of me and that was all that mattered to me. It didn't matter who had fathered him and I was not going to make him pay. Let's face it, neither option was that great, anyway. 

So the baby came and I fell in love. I looked into that little face and I knew that raising this child was my top purpose in life. 

Steve and I split when Jordan was 2. He was in and out of Jor's life for the next 10 years, never consistent and never being a real father. But that was okay. Jordan was the light of my life and I did the best I could to give him a good life. He was my little miracle baby, a child that should not have existed. From the moment of his conception, he has been fighting to exist. And, at 6 months old, when his skin color changed and his paternal parentage became clear, that fight got a bit harder and became a fight that would be with him the rest of his life. 

I have said, many times through his life, that if any one person had a right to be angry at the world, to be filled with rage, it is Jordan. But he chose a different route. He is funny and sarcastic and extremely intelligent. He faces the world, and the way it looks at him, with strength and courage and defiance. And through it all, he has been my biggest champion, my lifeline, and my best support system. He has always taken upon himself to be my protector and my defender, my rock and my common sense - when my own slips. He is the definition of Mama's Boy and he is okay with that.

I met Jeff during my split from Steve. I worked at the daycare, at the time, and Jeff was the father of one of the boys in my schoolage class. I have not talked much about Jeff in these blogs. Not for any bad reasons, there's just not much to say. He wasn't abusive or narcissistic. He was just Jeff, a nice enough guy. Over the years, I have come to the conclusion that Jeff and I were just a convenience for each other. We got along fine, we had some really good times, he is the one that took me to NYC for the first time - and almost every time after. We hardly ever fought, except about how he raised Jake and how I raised Jordan. We had very different parenting styles. We cared about each other, but we did not love each other. We were not in love. It was more like 2 friends living together rather than a romantic relationship. And, in the 8 years we lived together, he did not have much to do with Jordan. He wasn't mean to him, but he never spent one on one time with him or made an extra effort. Not like I did with Jake and Jeannie. 

So, I do stake the claim that I raised Jordan entirely on my own. 

Given the nature of my relationship with Jeff, it is a miracle that Jayden exists. But exists he does, my second miracle baby. Jeff and I finally split up when Jayden was 4. But Jeff was a good father and he did see Jayden all the time. He got him every other weekend and stopped at my apartment every evening, almost, on his way home from work to visit. 

But, for those 11 years, it was just the three of us living in that apartment. I worked, I went to school, and I came home and spent as much time as I could with my boys. We had game nights, we cooked together, they played xbox and I cheered them on. It was a very cozy time in my life and one of the points where I was the most happy. 

While Jayden has not had to face the same judgement and racism that Jordan has, he has had his own struggles. Jayden is the child that inherited the worst of my own mental struggles. He has had to learn how to navigate through social anxiety, general anxiety, depression, low self esteem, and - though never officially diagnosed - I have always suspected some form of ADD. 

There have been too many times, in the last 20 years, that I have been terrified that I would lose my son. All I could do was teach him about my own struggles and how I have managed them and be there for him anytime he needed someone to talk too. It didn't help that he has a father that does not believe in mental illness and refuses to acknowledge it or that our son suffers from it. 

Thank the gods that Jayden does come to me when he needs too. Unfortunately, when I moved in here to take care of Ma, Jayden ended up having to live most of the last 5 years with his dad. But we have remained close and he has always messaged or called when he needs me. 

Now, as adults, my sons are thriving and making their own ways in the world. 

Jordan went back to school, taking courses online to do something in IT. He works from home, and makes more money than I do. And he refuses to move out until I do. Still taking care of me, even as he builds his own life. 

Jayden is conquering his mental health and thriving. He is working, in a public restaurant where he deals with people and does it very well. He bought his own car. And now he is working to save up and move into his own place. 

As for me, I am so damn proud of my boys. And I am proud of myself for how well I raised them, mostly on my own. I have so much respect and admiration for them both. They are phenomenal, if I say so myself. 

I talk a lot about being able to chase my dreams now that they are adults. But, let me be clear. I do not regret waiting and staying here and raising my children. I do not regret choosing to be their mother and being focused on that. I knew trying to be a writer was going to be very time consuming and I did not want to pull focus from my boys. I knew my time would come, AFTER being the best mom I could be to the best sons in the world. 

They truly are my heroes.