Thursday, June 30, 2011


Today is a lazy day.

I should be cleaning and packing. I am going home to TN for two weeks, and we are moving across town two weeks after I come back. There is so much to do.

But today, I'm saying no. No cleaning. No packing. No stressing. No tight buns in my hair. No to-do lists. No responsibilities.

Just lazy. With some ice cream and pancakes and old movies.

It's going to be great. :-)

Friday, June 24, 2011


When I lost Lilly last summer, my dad wanted to do a memorial service, of sorts. Something to feel like he had some tiny bit of closure. He wanted to plant some flowers for her in a special flower bed. I wasn't ready to face a memorial service. Or flowers. Or anything else. I was traumatized, and I needed to work through that before I could even begin to grasp the idea of anything like that.

In April, we lost Brake. Once again, my dad was left without any kind of closure. It was even worse for him this time because I was on the other side of the country. I couldn't bring myself to go home while on medical leave. I just couldn't do it.

I'm going home in 9 days.

My parents have been trying to plan a memorial garden for both of the babies. Somewhere pretty and special, just for them. The family wants to do a late memorial service in the garden. I think I can handle it this time.

Mom told me today that they don't wanna do anything in the garden until I get there. They want me to help with it so that it's done how I want it. I usually jump on projects like this because I love designing things almost as much as I love flowers and playing in the dirt.

But this time I'm drawing blanks. I have no idea what to do with it. I have no idea what kinda flowers I want in it. I have no idea how to do a memorial service for babies that the rest of the family never got a chance to meet.

I want to throw myself into this project, but it feels like I want a distraction more than anything. The uncle that I wrote the dream about a few weeks ago? His baby was born last night. I'm so not ready to face a baby at home. I'm not ready to listen to the family's excitement while I'm there mourning my own babies. I want to throw every bit of thought and energy I can muster into this garden, just so that I don't hafta think about that baby. It makes me feel bad because it's not her fault, and I feel like I'm angry at her for being born right now.

I'm trying to sketch out some ideas for this garden, and I'm trying to not think about that baby, or my uncle, or the pain that keeps pulling me down.

Did any of yall do something like this? A memorial service? A garden?
Do you at least have some ideas you can share?

Wednesday, June 22, 2011


Ever feel like too many people are pulling you in too many directions and there are too many things going on around you? That's how I feel right now.

Most of my attention is focused on work. I'm trying hard to play catch up and be where I need to with my qualifications. I'm relatively new to this job, so I'm also having to learn everything in a pretty short time. My chain of command is projecting for my complete qualification within the next 6 months, even though it takes most people an average of 18 months. I'm a pretty hard charger, but given the hell I've been through the past couple months, I just don't have the heart to put into it like I need. I'm also being discouraged by the people that are supposed to be training me. I'm still trying, but it feels a little fruitless.

I'm still fighting with Medical about this supposed hormone therapy and infertility testing mess. It shouldn't be so hard to get good medical care, especially since good health and medical readiness are a REQUIREMENT for us. From the research I've done on my own, this hormone imbalance is a potential cause of the rest of the problems I'm having, so it seems like they would want to fix it now, rather than whenever I get pregnant again. Either way, I'm still fighting for a second opinion. After the doctor misdiagnosed labor pains and contractions for "a growing uterus", it seems like my reasons would be well understood. I hate arguing that point with them so much because then I relive that nightmare again and the anger toward that doctor continues to grow. One of these days I'm gonna stop arguing and I'm gonna just punch the guy in the throat. I'll lose some rank, but it would be well worth it.

I'm supposed to be going home on leave in a couple weeks. I'm nervous. Usually going home is a great and relaxing thing. But I'll be home for the 4th of July. Felichia's birthday. It's the first time I've been home for it in almost 4 years. I'm also coming up on 1 year since I lost Lilly. My parents are fixing a memorial garden at their house, and they talked about the family wanting to do a memorial service for both the babies when I come home. That means facing the ugly reality of death for 3 of the people I love the most.

My ex-husband has been calling me a lot lately. I told him I would try to be on friendly terms with him as much as I can, especially when he really does need something. It's hard. My divorce was the biggest slap in the face of my entire life. It was the beginning of the crumbling mountain. He wants to see me when I come home. That means another ugly face of failure. I don't think I'm ready for that one.

The counselor I've been seeing says that some of my dreams and feelings towards God and my church are symbolic of being angry at myself or not forgiving myself for something in the past. I've thought about it a lot lately, and I think most of it is my divorce. Although I was the one that filed for the divorce and gave him really no choice in the matter, I've never fully recovered from that. I've been so happy with Bryan that I liked to think I was over it, and I guess I was to a point. But looking at it, especially with everything going on right now, I'm definitely not over it. Hell, I'm reluctant to marry Bryan just because marriage is one step closer to divorce.

Things are still good with Bryan, but the mental strain of this mess is definitely starting to take its toll. He's stressed out too, and stress combined with his combat-related PTSD is hard. He's so defensive lately, usually for no apparent reason. Small things start big arguments. Afternoon naps turn into sweaty nightmares. He fights in his sleep a lot, so it's not uncommon to wake up to him choking me as he sleeps. We're getting set to move into a new place at the end of next month. Hopefully the new setting will be good for us. I'll be away from this damn bathroom, so hopefully at least those nightmares will stop. It's weird to have nightmares because of a bathroom. I'm terrified of using the bathroom at night. That's part of the reason I'm on Mids now, so that I'm not home during the night. It's a lot cheaper, so at least some of the money stress will go away. And it's on a back road, so I'll feel a lot safer running on the street in the mornings.

Maybe this trip will be better than I'm anticipating, and I can get that much needed break and renewal.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011


People make me angry.

In the last 2 months, my temper has gone from bad to...well....the worst it has ever been. And every day, with every new conversation with someone, it seems to get worse.

Especially conversations that involve people criticizing me for grieving, telling me how to feel or that I should just get over it, shunning me for not having absolute faith in God, or saying something stupid like how it just wasn't meant to be.

I don't know what's worse. Someone saying something because they have never experienced it and they have no idea. Or someone saying something while telling me they have been there and that I shouldn't feel how I do.

Why do I have to feel a certain way? If they're entitled to their own opinions, am I not also entitled to my own feelings? What gives them the idea that what they think of my situation matters more than what I think?

I don't believe that I am wrong. I don't necessarily like some of the feelings I have, but that doesn't make them wrong. The God issue, for example. I'm struggling with God right now, but I talk to Him every day. I question Him, yes. I can't bring myself to fully trust in Him. I get angry with Him. A lot. But the Bible says that He is my Heavenly Father, and I am His child. I can recall several occasions where I had similar feelings with my dad over the years. I have an amazing relationship with him today, and I know without a doubt that some of those situations made our relationship a lot stronger. Ideally, that would be the same with the Father as well, right? If I don't ask questions, I don't learn. If I don't learn, I don't grow.

One of the things that bothers me the most is being told that it just wasn't meant to be. I hate that phrase. I'd like to rip those words right out of the person's throat some days.

Not having my babies hurts like hell, no matter how you look at it. But in all honesty, what hurts even more than not having them, is that I had to watch them suffer. My son struggled and died in my hands. My daughter kicked and twitched and died at my feet. And I couldn't do anything about it. Not even comfort them in the slightest way. No parent likes to see their child in pain. I know mine didn't. Growing up I spent several occasions in the hospital in excrutiating pain, and my parents sat at my bedside crying a lot more than I ever did. My dad still cries at the thought of some of those injuries. At least he could do something about it. That's the one thing that really sticks with me more than anything else about this horrible journey. I watched my babies die, and I couldn't do anything about it but sit there and watch it happen. "Meant to be" has nothing to do with it.

There is a lot more to my grief and stress than just that my babies are gone.

I'm a completely changed person, and right now it's not really for the better. I'm terrified of peeing at night. It might sound silly, but if I have to pee in the middle of the night, I will hold it until I almost piss myself. It terrifies me that bad.

I'm also terrified of being pregnant. The doctors keep asking when we're going to try again so they can try this hormone therapy. But I don't want to be pregnant again. Being pregnant again means there's another chance that I could have to live through this again.

I'm violent now. Much more than I've ever been. I'd rather punch you in the throat than give you another opportunity to say something else. I try to just make myself walk away, but it doesn't always happen.

I'm terrified of my doctors. I don't trust them. They don't listen to me. They overlook things. They misdiagnose things. And there's nothing I can do about it. I don't want them to touch me. I don't want them to treat me. I don't want them anywhere near me. 

Right now, I'd rather go the rest of my life without talking to another person than have to deal with any of these people. But since I can't do that, I'm going to suck it up another day, and I'm going to finally crawl into bed after a long night at work and cry myself to sleep.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Rock and Walk


Yesterday was the Rock and Walk event with The Tears Foundation. Tears is a somewhat local group that assists families that have lost their babies. They help with funeral expenses, costs of head stones, and they offer a lot of support groups. We attended their Mother's Day event, so we were excited to see how this event turned out.

It was bittersweet, to say the least.

I tried to go into it optimistically. But then seeing all those butterflies and those names broke me. All I wanted to do was sit in the bleachers and cry.

A random lady came down and talked with us for a few minutes. She hugged us and went back to her seat. It was nice. I felt so alone in there until she came down. 

A lady read the names of every baby being walked for that day. As she read the names, little pieces of dandelion fluff started falling around the field. They fell lightly at first, but as the list went on, more and more pieces came down. It looked like it was snowing. When the list was finished, the pieces of fluff were gone. 

The baseball field was lined with butterflies. Handmade butterflies with the names of babies that have been walked in honor of or whose families were helped by Tears. We were told after the walk was over, we could go out and get our butterfly and take it home with us. We never found ours. A lot of families didn't have their butterflies out there. I was a bit disappointed. I didn't let it get to me at first. But I wanted to put it in a scrapbook that I'm trying to make about the babies. So then I just cried some more, and I told Bryan I wanted to leave before it was even over. 

The best part of the day was the little boy sitting next to us toward the end. He was sitting in a little circle of people. He said "Wook Momma! I gave that boy my shoe for fibe dowwars!" as he held up his bare foot with a big smile. He was so proud of himself. 

The random lady came up to us again before we left, to give us one last hug. Her daughter lost her baby last year, and her daughter lives in Australia now. She's fighting this battle as a grandmother on the other side of the world. It was so nice of her to talk to us and make sure we weren't alone. She frequently visits blogs and pages like Faces of Loss and Grieve Out Loud. She said she posts as Grandma Vicki. If any of you ever see her, send her my way. :-)

Today, I'm feeling like I've been hit by a train. All that pollen out there killed my allergies. It hit me in the middle of the night as I was sleeping, and I woke up feeling like someone was sitting on my face. My face hurts from the swelling in my glands. I'm completely miserable. And I get to go to work in a few hours.

Although my weekend didn't turn out as well as I had hoped, I'm glad that I made myself go to the Rock and Walk. I needed that, even if it did make me cry. I read on their facebook page that they made $75,000 with this event. Their sponsors took care of all the extra costs, like renting the stadium, so all that money is going directly to the families that need it. I think I can suck up the allergy misery for that. 

Friday, June 10, 2011

Nap time.

I work Mids, so on a good day, I get home around 8 AM. Most of my afternoon is spent like this. It has become quite the family event. :-)

This morning when I got home, I couldn't sleep. The perfect way to spend a sleepless morning? Blasting Eric Church on my iPod, singing loudly and dancing clumsily around in a hot shower. Ideally, this perfect way would not include the nasty fall from stepping on slimy conditioner. That hurt pretty bad. 

Naturally, I followed up a bad fall with more dancing and singing as I got dressed. And stabbed myself in the eye with my mascara. Note to self: not a good idea to dance while putting on mascara. 

Tomorrow is our Rock and Walk down in Tacoma with The Tears Foundation. It's gonna be fun. And emotional. And nothing short of amazing. But I'm nervous. I don't even hafta do anything but show up. 

I want to work out my nervousness with a good drive through the mountains. A random road trip to anywhere with caffeine and a camera. And then back home to pass out for the rest of the day with my critters.

Erica, a fellow BLM, is releasing her new book, Good Grief!, tomorrow. Tomorrow is her baby girl's birthday. The day that forever changed the rest of her life. If you have a few minutes, send her some love this weekend. I'm sure she could use it. :-)

Wednesday, June 8, 2011


Even though I'm struggling with this trust thing, I'm still praying. Still begging God to talk to me. To help me understand. Something. Anything. To help me take this leap in trusting Him again.

Some things are much more clear. They're not necessarily answers. Nor anything like I wanted to learn. But that's how God works, isn't it? And I did ask for anything, didn't I?

When I found out I was pregnant I was terrified. I begged God to keep this baby healthy. I begged Him to not make me endure watching another baby die.

This certainly wasn't where I'd planned on being in life when babies came into the picture. I wanted to be married, somewhat settled, and a lot more financially stable. The biggest thing was being married. I wanted my baby to come into a "normal" married family with the same last name. Something to get the "black sheep" label off me after my divorce. But I could suck it up. I just wanted my healthy beautiful baby.

My relationship with Bryan was strained during the pregnancy. He was so patient and caring with the first one. This time he was always annoyed and angry. He didn't want to cook or help clean. He didn't want to pick up any slack. He wanted me to suck up the sickness and be normal and continue doing things like before. (He did still help, but he didn't like it or want to.) It was stressful beyond belief. Some days I was so tired at work that I just wanted to go home, but I didn't want to be at home because it was so much more stressful.

The weekend I started spotting I was scared. I told Bryan I was scared and he got mad. He said I was being a hypochondriac. He insisted that it was fine because he had seen babies come out just fine from mothers who had done worse things than spotting. He always compared my pregnancy to his ex-wife's. It always pissed me off. I was so angry this time because he wouldn't listen and he didn't understand my fears. I remember telling God how angry I was because I wanted this baby so bad but I didn't want it to come between us like that. I told Him it wasn't supposed to happen like that, that we should be coming together and clinging to each other to help each other rather than bitter and pulling apart because of stupid stuff and differences over this baby. In my heart I felt like I wished I wasn't pregnant, so this nightmare wouldn't be happening, so I wouldn't be so close to losing my best friend, my love. I told myself how stupid it was to feel like that. To feel like I would choose Bryan over my baby.

Before that weekend was over, things would play out just like that. I wouldn't be pregnant. There wouldn't be a baby making me sick and coming between us. We would be clinging to each other tightly as we braced ourselves for funeral arrangements and a future without our baby.

I remembered all that tonight as I begged God for something, anything. And now I wish I hadn't asked. I feel like I did choose Bryan over my baby. Like I gave him up. Like I gave up on him without giving him a chance. I feel like I got just what I asked for that night out of anger and fear.

I don't trust the doctors because they didn't listen. I don't trust God because He did listen. I don't trust myself because I feel like I brought it on myself.

My doctor thinks he has narrowed the cause down to low progesterone. He wants to see me again, pregnant, in 2 months to start hormone therapy and progesterone shots. He's positive they can get it right this time and keep my baby alive. I asked for a 2nd opinion from an outside specialist, just to be sure they were right before I went through this a 3rd time. I was turned down because I'm active duty. Another leap of faith and trust that I'm not ready to make.

The doctor did biopsies of some cervical cancer cells. They were stage 2 when they were found. Then no one would touch them because I was pregnant. And then I was pregnant again. The results came back yesterday. Everything was gone, except for some inflammation. Just like that. Gone. I know that is proof that God is doing great things in my life, even if things seem so shitty right now. I know that He is there, setting things up, waiting for me to take that leap.

Last night I dreamed that the cancer was gone, Bryan and I got married on a visit to TN, and I got pregnant with a healthy baby. A perfect pregnancy. A beautiful baby that lived. A living, breathing baby that I could take home. Everything was perfect. My mountain had stopped crumbling.

It was just a dream, but I feel like it was more. Like it's another answer. Like it's a preview of what my future can be. But I still don't trust myself to trust Him like He wants.

Monday, June 6, 2011

Faith and Trust.

Last summer when we lost Lilly, so many people told us to cling tight to our faith and trust in God to pull us through. Especially when I had to move across the country a month after it happened and spend the winter here alone.

When we lost Brake a few months ago, people said the same thing again. Cling tight to our faith and trust in God.

I'm trying. I'm trying really hard. But I feel like I can't find that trust anymore.

I know He's there. I know He's pulling me through this. I know one day this will feel a little better.

But the trust. I just don't feel it.

You know when things are going really great, and you feel like you are standing on top of the world? And then something bad happens and something else bad happens, and you start to feel like a boulder crashing down the side of a mountain?

Well, that's not what I feel like.

It feels like I'm on top of that mountain, and the mountain itself is crumbling and crashing underneath me.

Every bit of my being has been broken, completely to my core. Everything I believed in and held my faith in has been shaken. My foundations shaken and falling apart. Like everything is crumbling to pieces and I'm just riding the rubble as it falls down.

I hate when people I know tell me to stop feeling like that. Tell me they know how I feel. Tell me it's all for a reason. Tell me it wasn't meant to be.

You may know how it feels to lose a baby. But that doesn't mean you know the rest of what I'm feeling. There is a lot more to my grief than just my baby dying. Like that I'm 3000 miles away from my family, that my doctor is an ignorant asshole that called my son medical waste after not listening to my cries about contractions, that part of my complications were caused by a man that raped me when I was 4, that that same monster is having a baby of his own next month, that I am STILL terrified of going into the bathroom at night, that I can't get the image of my babies struggling with their 10 minutes of life out of my head. Yes, you might know how you felt about losing your baby, but you don't know how I feel about mine.

And NO ONE, ABSOLUTELY NO ONE should ever say some stupid shit about how it's all for a reason or it's just not meant to be. I don't care what you think you know about my situation or my grief, or even what you think about your own grief. That is something you should never ever say to anyone grieving the loss of a loved one, especially a baby.

The next person I hafta hear that shit from....I'm gonna punch them in the throat.

Things are really hard at work right now. Dealing with Medical is a huge mess. Today I was told I couldn't have a 2nd opinion from an outside provider because I'm active duty. Bryan is still not able to find a job, so things are getting rough financially. It's hard being the sole provider, even though it's just the two of us. This place is crazy expensive to live in. It's put a big strain on our relationship because I'm stressed about making ends meet and he's stressed about not being able to help more. That makes me even more stressed because I can't stand the thought of losing him too.

I know most of the country is feeling the same kinda stress. It's hard for everyone right now. But it feels like it's just one thing after another lately. Sure, it's a good distraction from thinking about my babies. At least for a little while. Then I just get stressed out and overwhelmed and I break out in hives all over my body and fight to not break down in tears every time someone tries to talk to me. Just more of that mountain crumbling.

Part of me keeps reminding myself that God does stuff like that to break us down and remind us to trust Him to provide for us and carry us through. But then the angry part of me reminds myself that I trusted God to carry me through two pregnancies with healthy babies. And that didn't happen. So now I'm afraid of giving that full trust again. I afraid of giving any trust. I want to, but I don't know how anymore.....

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Afternoon at the Beach.

It's been a very stressful week. So this morning I woke up early for a hot stone massage. It was amazing.

We spent the afternoon playing at the beach. We saw seals. It was exciting. I'm glad I remembered the camera this time.

I fell asleep during my massage. I dreamed that I saw Jesus sitting on some steps and angels were playing harps behind him. Then I saw my son, back in the bathroom the night he died. It kept going back and forth between the two images.

I wonder what he would look like now. If he still looks like me.

For a few short minutes, it almost felt like he was cradled in my arms again. It's not fair that I can only have that in my dreams now.

A few weeks ago I finally found the strength to cancel the book club I enrolled Brake in when I was pregnant. I was so excited about starting him a little library and having so many childhood favorites to read to him. When he died, I didn't even like to see the books. But I wanted to keep them. A bittersweet reminder, I guess.

Last week, I decided that I couldn't let them sit here anymore. So I mailed them to the Binders, who started Doing Good In Her Name as a way to honor their daughter Peyton. They lost Peyton to a rare form of infant leukemia. They were collecting books for a new NICU that opened near them, so the kids will have something to read during their stay.

It's not fair that my son will never be able to read his books. But hopefully they will make another baby a little more comfortable and happy. Hopefully, that baby will get to go home.

Friday, June 3, 2011


My little brother was texting me in the middle of the night. Fine, because I'm at work in the middle of the night anyway. But he was upset. His girlfriend broke up with him because he spent the weekend with his best friend instead of texting her. He's 13.

My first thought was "Oh to be that young and innocent again. To have small problems like that rather than the more serious things that hurt me now."

But then I stopped. And I thought back to when I had my heart broken around his age.

I might have been young, but dammit, that heart break hurt! I felt pain, and it was real!

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that there are a few of those heart aches I never really got over. Sure, life moved on, things got better as pain was pushed aside, and eventually bigger, uglier things hurt me again. But that pain, that very real pain in that very real situation, still bothers me. It's like a wound that the skin grows over, but the inside never completely heals.

So what did I do?

I started crying. Like a big baby. Because I know how bad he feels right now, and there is nothing in the world I can do to make it feel better. Because I know that he will get another girlfriend and he will be happy again and then he will have another girlfriend after that, but that still doesn't make this pain any easier for him.

I hate when people have their own expectations for my pain and grief. So I can't have expectations for his.

But I can tell him I love him and that I will be home soon. And I think that helped. :-)

On a brighter note, a big thanks to Franchesca over at Small Bird Studios for making my blog pretty!

Wednesday, June 1, 2011


This post is a very personal one.

It was a dream I had. A very real dream. A dream that I still can't shake.

It felt so nice to be home. It was strange to go back without my baby. But I'd missed my family so much. I was home for the first week of July. My favorite time of year, but such a bittersweet time for our family.

We had a few family outings with Dad that week. He'd had such a rough time with losing the babies. He never got to see his only grand kids, and he couldn't be there to help ease my pain. He tried to stay strong, but he's a sensitive guy. He cries a lot now... 

The afternoon of the 4th we picked up groceries for the cookout and some flowers. We would make our first family trip to the cemetery since F's funeral. It was always a sad day for us, spending her birthday at such a place, but it kept us closer on those days. Afterward, the entire family, all the uncles, aunts, and cousins, would be over for burgers and fireworks. 

Uncle C's girlfriend was due in a couple weeks, but she'd been very uncomfortable most of the afternoon. Something just didn't feel right to her. She worried about her baby, as any young mother would. But Uncle C refused to take her to the hospital. 

As the sun sank lower behind the house, the tension in the group grew thicker. You couldn't even cut that shit with a knife. Everyone wanted to help her, but no one wanted to listen to his mouth in another of his rages. The poor girl. I always wondered how she ended up with him. 

About the time the first firework went off, her water broke. The baby was on its way, whether Uncle C liked it or not. 

She still couldn't shake that bad feeling. That something was wrong with the baby. That instinct that mothers have when they KNOW something is wrong. She pleaded with him. "Please don't be like this. Please don't let our baby die." 

I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't stand there and pretend nothing was happening. I couldn't stand there and watch this happen. I always hated that no one would stand up to him. I always hated that I was never around when this kinda stuff happened. I reached down into my boots for my gun. I always carry one of those now days. 

He smacked her face. "That baby deserves to die. It's just gonna turn out to be a whore like its mother anyway." 

I shoved the gun in his face. 

He laughed at me. "What the hell do you think you're doing? This has nothing to do with you. She's a whore. And you're not gonna do anything to me. I run this family. You owe me. You all owe me. That baby's not even mine." 

I cocked the gun, still in his face. He laughed again. He threw his hand up and tried to push the gun away. 

That laughter. That arrogance. So many feelings rushed over me at once. So many memories flooding back. I lowered the gun. He smirked. I busted his right eye with the butt of the gun. 

And then I hit him again. And again. And again. And I continued hitting him. 

As I hit him, I coldly told him, "You don't run anything. This one is for the family. This one is for the hell you put them through. This one is for your destructive habits. This one is for your lies. This one, this one is for my childhood, the one that you shattered. For the way that cold metal felt on my back. For the way you stole my innocence. For the shoes you tied to the swing set so I couldn't move. For the nights I couldn't sleep because I knew you were there. For the years of hiding behind my fears. For the years of hating that monster I saw in the mirror every day. The monster you created. For the hatred and disgust I had with myself, always wondering why. Why was it me? Why did you hate your life so bad you had to ruin the life of a 4 year old? This one is for the friendships I couldn't have because I was afraid of people. This one is for the boyfriends I couldn't keep because I didn't like to be touched. This one is for the windows that I still hate to look out of in fear of seeing you outside of them. This one is for the fear of windows and what people can see through them. This one is for my sister, because of the sister that I couldn't be growing up. This one is for my parents, for the misery they went through because no one would stand up to you. This one is for the years it took to realize it wasn't my fault. This one is for all those years that I can never get back. This one is for Papaw, for the tears I've watched him cry over your sorry ass. This one is for every bill he has ever paid for you. This one is for every time you spit in his face in return. This one is for your girlfriends. For every one of them that you have battered and bruised and tossed around. This one is for every time I've had to bite my tongue because the family doesn't want to hear the truth about you. This one is for every time my brother has been compared to you, because you are nowhere near the man he is. This one is for your girlfriend. This one is for calling her a whore. This one is for that baby. The baby you are too asinine to believe is yours. For the baby you are willing to sit here and let die. This one is for my daughter that I will never hold again. This one is for my son that my family never got to meet. This one is for the scar tissue that kept them from being full term. The scar tissue that helped them die. This one is for the nightmares, all 20 years of them. This one is for the monster that I still fight every day. This one is for the guns I learned to shoot as a child. The guns that I don't feel safe without now. This one is for your arrogance. This one is for your self-righteousness. This one is for being completely full of shit. This one is for teaching my little brother how to do drugs. This one is for putting my family through hell. They aren't your family anymore. You gave them up a long time ago. This one is for the fact that I may never have kids again, and you are too sorry to even claim yours. This one is for the joys of fatherhood that you will never experience. You will never, ever hurt another woman. You will never, ever hurt another little girl and shatter her future like you did mine. That little baby is the best thing that could ever happen to you, and you are too fucking stupid to realize it. That baby deserves better than you. That baby deserves to be loved and cherished. That baby deserves to live. But you? You don't deserve any of it. You think I owe you?" 

I stopped hitting him and took a step back. 

"Honey, you just got everything I owe you."

I put a bullet through his forehead. 

As he lay there, silent and still, I heard his baby take her first breath and start to cry......