A couple times a year, AJ's grandmom and I email each other. No biggie, it's just part of that scab I can't stop picking.
She'd been on my mind and heart lately so I emailed a very generic message: "You've been on my mind, I hope all is well with you and yours."
I'm feeling too much to actually do anything. Of course, my mind immediately goes right to we-can-get-our-son-back, then crashes into the reality of him being 3.75 years and not our son. He's got these two siblings, would I even want to contemplate taking on the 3 of them? Hell, I don't even know what the situation is with them, why they're with their grandmother, or anything. Part of me says to just stop picking that damn scab. What's done is done.
But I can't stop my heart from loving that little boy I rocked to sleep every night for more than 120 nights.
My bff Pam says she doesn't think I should call. Then she said that if I really felt calling was the best thing for me to do, she'd sit with me quiet as a mouse while I did. (How cool is that for a friend?)