12

Tomorrow you would be 12.

I can’t stop myself from thinking of all you were meant to accomplish, and all you were meant to represent. All that might have, could have, should have, happened.

I shouldn’t be thinking about it, because that horse has been dead for a while. And thinking about the might haves, could haves, should haves – never solved anything.
I shouldn’t be thinking about it, and yet it’s all I’m thinking about.

In the grand scheme of things, 12 is nothing. It doesn’t really mean anything, numerically speaking, in culture or nationality or race.

12 is only significant in our religion. Or at least, I’m making it significant.

But 12 is significant. 12 is significant in that you’d be an adult. Able to make your own choices and fend for yourself. Sometimes.

I shouldn’t, but I think back to the beginning, to the early years. How hard they were, how we struggled to figure things out with you. And somehow we always seemed to manage. Another week, another month, another year. And somehow one became two, became three, became five, became eight, became ten. And somehow we deluded ourselves into thinking that this was good, fine, great, wonderful.

I can’t stop thinking about you. Born from hopes and dreams and desire, but not destined to last.

Stubbornness and pride kept us from recognizing our failures and we stretched you too thin.
Pushed beyond your mortal boundaries, extended by sheer force of will. Until you cracked and collapsed on yourself, dragging us into your maelstrom.

I can’t stop thinking about you.

I can’t stop thinking about how little there is to show for you.

I can’t stop the hurt and the pain from taking over and removing all instinct to get away from what you truly represent.

Loss.
Anger.
Grief.
Destruction.
Hate.
Bitterness.
Fragility.
Sorrow.

Tomorrow you would be 12.
Technically, tomorrow you are 12.

It is too much time. It was not enough time.
It is everything, and nothing.

I’d light a candle, but you were never real. You never really existed.
You were just a figment of the imagination.

And now you’re all grown up.

Ready to take on whatever comes next.
Ready to take on the world.
Ready to emerge from the chrysalis and become what you were destined to be.
Nothing. Everything.
To infinity and beyond.

Mazal tov. Be free.

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