To my son Baker,
Daddy and I met when we were 19 through a girl I met in a lift. A chance encounter, the universe doing its thing. From the first time we met, it was magnetic. I felt it. He felt it. We were both seeing other people. It would only be a few years later that our time would come. He came to celebrate my 22nd birthday; both of us now single. We spent a few weeks chatting and then had our first date, movie night at home. He never left. We fell madly in love. It was like we’d been together in a past life and picked up right where we left off. We moved fast, but it always felt right. Not rushed. Just two souls meant to be together.
We were as thick as thieves, always together, rarely apart. We just got each other. Everything was better when we were together. He calmed me. He was my yin. The safest place on Earth was wrapped up in his arms. I knew one day he would be my husband. I could feel it in my bones. When we stood at that altar and said our vows in front of our family nearly six years later, my commitment was unwavering. For better or for worse. When I thought of worse, I always thought of health. Cancer. Something life-threatening. Something I couldn’t fix. What I never thought of was addiction. I never once thought that would be our worse. That became our reality around the time you were born, I just didn’t find out about it until after your first birthday.
From the time you were conceived to when we found out you were inside by belly, instability hit our world. Redundancy, tough house sale, Daddy was diagnosed with type two diabetes. We decided to stop trying for a baby. Everything felt so out of control. But you, our baby boy, you had other ideas. You knew before we did how much we needed you. Daddy was struggling with the job loss and diabetes. He was hurting, more than I realised. Six weeks before you were born it got worse. Daddy was diagnosed with type one diabetes. The exact thing everyone had told us to be thankful for not having earlier that year. As it turns out, the original doctor was wrong. From that day forward, Daddy would need to inject his own insulin to stay alive. It rocked us. He’d had a tough year and that diagnosis pushed him over the edge.