There are very few people who can persuade me to answer the phone the first time they call. Usually I subscribe to the belief that if it's important enough, they'll call again. My godson gets me to answer every time; I'm his guardian, there's no dodging the phone calls, even if most of the time they seem to be for cash or sex tips. I'm glad he calls, I'm glad he want to talk to me and I'm unspeakably pleased that he has people that will love him no matter what. His Mother is my oldest friend and this year has been a very strange year for her and I. This year Godson turned thirteen; I received an email from his Mom which was just a subject line and two attached photos. One picture was Godson, grinning cheekily at the camera, all blonde floppy hair and white teeth. The second picture was a scanned polaroid; me holding him, he's maybe a year old and wrapped up in my jacket, I'm sitting in the back of an old Jeep in my shirtsleeves, I remember being freezing, driving 500 miles with Godson and his Mom to escape our families. I turned thirteen that year too.
I haven't held many babies in my life, only two that I held for any length of time without trying to hand them on to someone else as quickly as possible. Godson, of course, it was a long way and I held him for almost all of the two days while she drove. And my daughter, all too briefly. I thought of Godson then, in the hospital. Remembered desperately trying to keep him warm in my jacket and living in constant fear of running out of money or running into a family member. I promised Godson's Mom that I'd keep him safe, no matter what, from everything we'd run away from. It's worked out so far, sometimes by the skin of our teeth and most of the time through good luck rather than good planning. But we've managed it for thirteen years, mostly her work with me providing back-up. I promised the same thing to my daughter, the day she was born. In the end though, I wasn't there when they needed it most.
That colours every conversation with Godson. I can't promise to keep him safe no matter what, because things don't work out that way. I can promise to do my best. But that's nowhere near as reassuring to me. Because I wasn't there.
I haven't held many babies in my life, only two that I held for any length of time without trying to hand them on to someone else as quickly as possible. Godson, of course, it was a long way and I held him for almost all of the two days while she drove. And my daughter, all too briefly. I thought of Godson then, in the hospital. Remembered desperately trying to keep him warm in my jacket and living in constant fear of running out of money or running into a family member. I promised Godson's Mom that I'd keep him safe, no matter what, from everything we'd run away from. It's worked out so far, sometimes by the skin of our teeth and most of the time through good luck rather than good planning. But we've managed it for thirteen years, mostly her work with me providing back-up. I promised the same thing to my daughter, the day she was born. In the end though, I wasn't there when they needed it most.
That colours every conversation with Godson. I can't promise to keep him safe no matter what, because things don't work out that way. I can promise to do my best. But that's nowhere near as reassuring to me. Because I wasn't there.
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