He was just 5
My friend Tamara said, "he was just 5!"
Because he was and now he isn't, and...
I am on the precipice of a Mariah Carey wall slide,
Along with the MJ crying face meme.
My baby is 15, I am not ok.
I've been watching as his adolescence threads it way through his chin.
Carving away the chub of his cheeks,
Pronouncing the base of his voice, and I'm not ok.
I didn't awake from my depression until he was going on four,
I missed so much.
I've been pinching back tears for days, masked in unanswered calls and hangover sunglasses.
Time is passing by too quickly.
14 is Homer backing into the bushes.
16 is in the shadows.
When he no longer needs me, will he want to come home?
Did I learn how to gentle-parent too late?
Every year I cry, reminiscent of years I can't change.
Grateful for more life,
Fearful of things I can no longer protect him from.
He's 1 out of 5.
For that alone, God I thank you.
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