I am a Catholic girl.
No, not the Brit Spears "Catholic-school girl uniform" type, but the legit Catholic school girl who wore knee length navy blue pleated skirts (which was a horrible wardrobe decision by Trinity Catholic administration as being put in a pleated skirt when you are not a size 6 is not the wisest fashion decision. Moving on). In being raised Catholic, we gave up something during Lent in preparation for Easter and to signify Jesus Christ giving up his life for the world on the cross that fateful Friday afternoon. This is probably the first formal time I gave something up for a bigger cause. In the Joe Bergkamp house, we did not have a choice in what "that" was. It was always sweets (desserts, snacks that were sweet, etc). Always. We had no choice. That was the "law of the land" as Daddy would say. I wonder if it would still have been the "law of the land" if one of us was diabetic. Hmmmm......
Since those days of torture during Lent, I have given up little things here and there for people that I care about and love (past tense love, in some events). They say the ultimate sacrifice is to lay down your life for a friend. You know those old school comedies (black and white old school) where the girl is tied to the track by the evil bandit and a train, of course, is bailing down the rails? She's laying there all cutsey and screaming (these were the silent comedies, but you can see her face screaming and such). She was always blonde with pin curls, it seemed. Lo and behold, she was saved last minute by some schmuck who was dumb enough to believe that she would live happily ever after with him. I guess you could say Dumb Schmuck was giving up his life, potentially, to save hers. I always wondered if there were people in my life who would give up their life for myself.
There is one out there who I gave my life up for. And I would do it again. Then again.
I gave up my humility in admitting to myself that I was not ready for the gift that God had given me. The timing was off. So off. I could have given him materially everything he needed for life. However, I could not have given him a father. Or at least a father that was a father in what a father is suppose to be. The term father seems to be one that society is becoming more lax than the LA County jail system in enforcing. To be blunt, it's bullshit the shit our boys are getting away with when they make the decision to become fathers. Where are THEIR parents when they skip out on their responsibilities? If they are mature enough to be engaging in sexual activities, they are mature enough to be a father.
Ahem. I digress, again.
My heart grieves and breaks daily when I look at pictures of a smaller version of a Bergkamp boy hamming for his mother's camera. With eyelashes that would put even mine to shame, he is incredibly happy. So content. So fragile. I do not regret a moment from when I walked into Manhattan's Catholic Charities Office that day in October, alone. When I gingerly walked out of Mercy 6 months later with my mom and when I said "Good bye" to his parents, and his Dad said "It's not goodbye; it's see you later", my heart broke. And it keeps breaking.
But, it's not the juvenile-Twilight-heart-breaking-teen-drama kind of breaking. It is the breaking that you know is ok. Normal. With every break, your heart becomes stronger, because you know this is the right path. It's like that break up with the loser boy who kept dragging you along and involved you in his shit. You know it's for the best, but you still hurt. In giving up his drama, you are taking on a new life. A new chapter, but always remembering "that".
Is it possible that the biggest heartbreak of someones life, can also be their strongest moment when they saw life in the clearest of lens?
Bring on a railroad tie. I'd lay my life on that line for him.
So long as I can be gussied up in 1940s regalia.
