I knew I shouldn’t read the comments on yesterday’s post. I knew it. But I did. And it was exactly what I expected. The vast majority of the comments were positive and encouraging and supportive and empathetic.
But there were those few comments mixed in by those who know better than I do what is right, what should have been done, and just how this is going to affect my child, my life, and everyone else involved.
Don’t get me wrong. Some of them made me laugh out loud. Like the Mormon who went off on a tirade about how God will not be mocked and how He is punishing me and everyone involved for my sins and for going against the truth I was raised with and that I deep down (apparently) know is true. I showed the comment to my Mormon brother. He was appalled (as I knew he would be). All Christians that I saw reply were appalled. I just laughed and am still laughing about it. Religious extremists just tick everyone off. When will they realize that?
Of course there were the comments that I was just flat out wrong and selfish with my choices. There were the comments that laid out exactly how I was hurting everyone. There were the comments in which people heavily debated all of it.
Those are the ones I didn’t want to read.
Those are the ones I knew I shouldn’t read.
Why? Because there is a bit of truth to them. This situation wasn’t fair to anyone. At all. It wasn’t fair to me, or my kid, or the Farmer’s Daughter.
There was no perfectly right answer. Zero. Zip. None. I had no crystal ball. I had no oracle telling me what was best. No call to Doctor Laura. I just had what I had, a decision to make, and I had to make the one that I thought would leave my kid with the best fighting chance.
It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever struggled with, and I’m not going to completely dissect it for the masses. My main list of reasons and thoughts are enough, and it’s all anyone is going to get.
And to be honest, I am angry about everything that has been going on. I am angry at the circumstances that pushed us to this point, and how out of my control they were, and how my son’s other family and their hurt and pain and problems and poor decisions are hurting and damaging mine. I hate that because of what Noah’s mom is going through herself with a husband in a coma, she will never know or appreciate what I’ve done and given up for our son in all of this. You know what? That’s not fair. None of it’s fair.
But it’s life. And if I’ve learned anything about life, it’s that you can’t control it, and the more you try to control it, the more out of control it gets.
That means, sometimes the best thing you can do is make a painful choice out of two painful options, close your eyes, and hope you land on your feet.
God. Why are some people so quick to preach the right way everything should have been done?
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