The Little One ... I've been expecting his death since before he was conceived. Since his sister failed to thrive and was vacuumed out of my body at 16 weeks. Since he was hospitalized at 3 weeks old and wasted away until a doctor realized what surgery he needed.
He took his parents' divorce harder than any of the rest is us. Begged me to go back - to love his Dad again. His big brother tried to tell him this was better for everyone. That the little one didn't remember how unhappy we'd all been.
Not remembering and remembering too much - they are opposite sides of the same pain for my hungry ghost sons. Remembering wrongly how good or bad life was and comparing 'now' to an imagined then that may not ever have been.
Driving to get him again today - another unscheduled and yet somewhere inside of me expected rescue mission - I let the feelings roll through and over me. Fatigue. Resignation. Dread. Relief.
Mostly fatigue. I don't want this fight anymore. I wish for some other champion to help slay his dragons.