The Road Past Judgement

It's challenging to love someone who doesn't love you back, but it's impossible to love someone who doesn't love herself.

The same scene plays in my mind every time I look at her.

After work one day, I came home to find Briana's body limp in the corner of our apartment. Her left bicep was tied off with a long rubber balloon, and the floor was decorated with needles. She was spaced out with her eyes rolling into the back of her head as I stood paralyzed listening to the screams of our newborn baby son. He was just 3 weeks old when I rushed in to scoop him off his stomach and bring him up so he could gasp for air. She didn't know she had a problem; I still don't know if she knows.

After I called the paramedics to save her life, I remember sitting there with my son wrapped in my arms, weeping right along with him. Then, an EMT leaned down and placed his hand on my back for support. I needed comfort more then than at any other point in my life. I had an immediate reaction to it, like the ease of caring was something I had been searching for far longer than the moment he leaned in to counsel me. But the solace was short-lived.

The man leaned down and said, "Sir, your girlfriend is going to be okay. I know it's rough, but you have to remember to be a man. Be a man for the boy you have there in your arms."

And that was it.

The conversation that I was relying on to what felt like it would save my life just reminded me that it was my job to live up to society's standard. What is being a man is supposed to mean? Is it to bottle up my emotions and persist as if I should measure up to some unknown level?

Empty doesn't even begin to describe how I felt after the two seconds it took me to process his comment.

So after watching them load Briana's near lifeless body into the back of an ambulance, it was my job to just live on somehow. I was to watch her go without a tear. Expected to ignore the thoughts about the safety of my child. But to instead stand up to some immeasurable strength that I'm just supposed to have. I should be alright as quickly as snapping my fingers.

Well, I wasn't.

My mind raced, and my palms sweated. I contemplated every move and looked to my newborn son as if his innocent face would provide me with an answer. I wondered about his future and my own. And with that, I had to make a choice to continue to put up with mistakes that seem to flow in a dime a dozen or do something about it.

To be honest, I didn't even know how I felt about Briana. Or if I actually wanted her to be okay. Maybe I wanted this to be the final wake-up call for her to get her life back together. This could be the consequence that reminded her of when we were both happy. It sounds wrong, maybe even a little selfish, but if she had to face her choices for what they were, then perhaps she would open her eyes to how good life could be again.

It all leads back to that same statement made by the EMT. It's a statement highlighting my higher responsibility and Briana's ability to move on, knowing that her choices didn't result in just her own harm. So Briana can just survive while hurting me and threatening our son's safety.

And here I stand, trying to understand why I should accept that. Is it just because there is some expectation I'm supposed to live by. Maybe it's because I've always known I'm supposed to "Be a man." Even now, more than ever, I am unsure if the petty suggestion is worth the social definition it has.

That night I stood there sobbing with my son nestled, rocking between my arms, wondering what turn my life was about to take. I didn't have the answer; who would. The lights above the ambulance just flashed over and over until they were out of sight. I was left feeling disappointed, sad, angry, and every emotion in between.

There will be a day that my son understands the same logic as I do. A day when he no longer relies on us for the simple things but instead looks to me for a deeper meaning. I wish telling him to continue to love himself despite the world's challenges would be enough. I wish saying something like that was enough for his mother.

If I could just stand up and show her the person I used to know. The Briana I see smiling in pictures behind eyes that were not yet cast with shadows. If only I could pick her up off the ground and tell her she was always worth it. But just because I know, doesn't mean she does. I could scream it through a loudspeaker until the sun goes down, and she would still choose to ignore the truth. If there was just more I could do, it didn't have to lead to this... my choice, my response to finally saying that enough is enough.

Now, I sit on the other side of a courtroom, looking into her eyes of deception, only sober for the moment she tries to fight for custody. She has fought this case as every mother would. Yet, with every word she speaks, I feel a new piece of my heart break... not from undying love but from the crushing reality of the situation.

I am not free from flaws. I am not familiar with what it takes to raise a child, but I know we can't keep fighting this uphill battle. Our son can't be exposed to the same agony.

I sit with my lips pressed together, practicing the emotionless expectation of my being. This fight has been extreme. I can feel the lack of support for a father to fight against a mother for full custody. Everyone is looking at me like my requests are out of this world. I'm even starting to wonder if taking her in to remove our son from the trauma was a good decision.

The judge looks to me and asks sternly, "Mr. Jones, are you confident that you can raise a child on your own?"

The breath you take after a question so difficult can't be deep enough. The answer is no. Through honor and oath, I do not know if I am capable of everything that goes into raising a child.

It's not easy, and as it's been worded to me so many times," You are JUST a dad."

I doubt I could ever live up to such responsibility, to be everything my son needs to thrive. She is there with bags under her eyes, mistakes too many, too deep, yet she is confident that she can be everything he needs. Maybe the entire room notices that difference between us.

Briana growls out of turn, "I am confident that a child needs his mother."

I want to roll my eyes and figure out what drives her rash thinking. How someone who has made her choices can claim confidence is beyond me.

As much as I agree with her, it's not a mother that a child needs. A child needs stability, whoever is willing to provide. She doesn't possess the same strength or vulnerability, the same heart or effort as a mother. A child doesn't just need a mother; a child needs someone to look beyond themselves for their wellbeing.

The judge barks back at her for being rude, which is satisfying, to say the least. But then, he directs his attention back to me for my answer.

I clear my throat of any existing lumps and begin, "Your honor, a growing child needs parents, people to look after them, but most of all to keep their best interest at heart. I want to be this person for my son. It's hard to say I am confident because I know it will be complicated. There will be ups and downs, all of which I am confident I will deal with in the best way possible."

The judge nods with pleasantry as he leaves us to ourselves. Briana is bitter; she blames me. And it's hard not to take the fault, but I can't accept the guilt. I need a safe environment for my son. A way to work on getting his mother to a good place while at arm's length. I just hope the system sees that too.

When the judge returns.

I am worried.

Briana sits, expecting a ruling in her favor. The dad is the bad guy; that was clear among every question, every request, and story spoken through the case. We both know that, and I notice it in the smirk on her face. She is communicating with me through her eyes, taunting me for the big mistake I made with leaving her. There's a threat persisting that she will never allow me to see my boy again after this. And that threat has absolute power. I know it's the consequence of losing the case.

When the judge enters, I already feel defeated, but when I hear the words he speaks, I can't help but allow my emotions to surface. He smiles at me as he lets me know my son is going home with his father, but first warning me that I was correct about the difficult path I have ahead of myself.

Understanding, hearing, and confirming that I was doing what's best is uplifting, and how it makes me feel can't entirely be explained. We are finally safe. The comfort I've been searching for is here now.

I hope there is something within Briana that helps make a change. I want her to become the person our son needs. Maybe there will be a day I can help her with that, but my main focus is figuring out this dad thing for now.

I take special care to strap the baby in his car seat as his innocent expression studies my every move. He's so fragile, almost like the picture definition of life. You can't help but let a smile boil over your cheeks when looking into his eyes, no matter how exhausted you are.

As I think about the day, I watch my boy in the mirror as he sleeps soundly from the car's vibrations. I want to make him all the promises I feel in my heart and tell him I will always do my best, but I know showing him would be the best way to understand. So, I'll keep the rants to myself, for now, knowing full well I am feeling those promises radiate my entire being.

One of my first challenges is a simple one, going into the store to get food, not just for me but for the baby too. They have different brands, different labels, and it's confusing, to say the least, but I make my choice regardless.

Since they are locked behind glass, I flag down one of the employees to get help. When she opens the case, I am surprised by her attitude, rolling her eyes at me as if I am already doing something wrong.

"Not breastfeeding." She snarls as she directs her attention towards the baby.

I shake my head, "No, it's just us."

"I'm sorry to hear." She answers but continues to transgress, "Did you lose his mother?"

I shake my head again, partially out of discomfort, "She's not in the picture right now."

The clerk contorts her face angrily and once again leaps over a personal boundary, "Aw well, a baby needs his mother, you know."

I press my lips together and fight every ounce of anger cautioning to escape my lips. But, instead of responding, I just nod, "Mmmhhhmm."

Sometimes what others say so openly, those opinions you read or hear just don't aline. It's ignorance; through this I am learning so many unknowingly wear that label with pride.

"Be a man."

"Your JUST a dad."

"A baby needs his mother."

I look to my son and recognize that they are simply judgments, all of those statements. I don't live my life confirming or denying someone else's judgment. I live my life doing the best I can, and I will continue to do my very best; for my son and for me.