Well, he payed his child support (that never got spent on her even partly anyway) and provided medical insurance, and I helped them keep a smallish relationship, like I'd let her call him anytime she asked and stuff like that. He lived out of town, so it would have been disruptive to have to much of a relationship. To understand why he kept his distance, you'd have to know her mother... When Shyann got sick, he and his fiance were the ones with me at the hospital all night that first night with her in the PICU, me not knowing whether she would be alive the next day. He was kinda foolish when he was young (he's younger than her mother by a few years), but matured and tried to maintain a bit of a relationship with her. I have no idea what's happened since they moved out of state and took her.

It all does haunt me some, to this day. I'm still afraid that guy (the stepfather, evil bastard -- the man that drove me to understand the true meaning of rage; I used to just RAGE internally about him) is going to drive her to slash her wrists and they'll find her bleeding to death in a nice warm bath someday. She's 13 now. The last time I saw her was just before she turned 9, exactly five years ago this August 8th. I have pictures, so many pictures ~ we did so much and I took SO many pictures ~ clothes and all sorts of things, but it's all put away. You know, all the stuff that mothers keep as babies grow up. Her first lost tooth. A lock of her hair from when it started to fall out from the chemo. Her first little tap shoes and leotards, her gymnastics competition bag (that damn bag was like, $60!), several favorite dressses, stuffed animals, and miscellaneous drawings and oh just all sorts of things. I've never really thought it all the way through - what happened. But I know that no matter how it ended up, that child is alive because of me. Literally. So many times I'd have to chase her down to whatever family friends house she had been sent off too and give her meds when she was sick, her mother having never thought about it. They never understood the meds schedule, they'd even SKIP some of her meds sometimes. She's alive to this day because of me, and sheer determination on her part.

She asked me one time 'why does cancer grow in some people?' I told her sometimes it just does. She said she thought God put it there. I said it was probably hard to understand why He would do that since He loved her so much. She was like 'YEAH!!! Why?' I thought for a minute, and said that I thought He meant for her to be a really good person with a very stong heart, and sometimes the only way to create a person like that is for them to go through something really hard, like having cancer. And she absorbed that for a few seconds, and said back to me 'So maybe when I grow up, I can help other people with cancer?' And I whispered 'Yes, baby, like that.' I was floored. She was six. It is an incredibly powerful memory. She was an incredible kid. I hope it was all enough...my greatest fear was always that it wasn't going to be enough and she would turn out like her mother. I told her that once when she was maybe seven. It was prompted by lying or something like that. I needed her to understand that she had to tell me the truth, always always. She couldn't be like them, not in that way.

I can talk about it now without being overwhelmed by pain, but I will talk, and talk, and talk, and TALK about it. Obviously. Sorry. I will go on and on about this topic.

Another thing for the 'someday in therapy' list. I do hope to see her again when she is a little older. I'd know her on the street, like the back of my hand, like my own reflection.

I have decided that the big box with her stuff in it is one of the things that is going to stay here in storage when we move in a few weeks. That's a big step for me. I looked through it four month or so ago. For the first time since, without nuclear meltdown from just the thought.

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