Innocence

In two weeks it will be Ky's seventh birthday. Seven has always been my favorite number. Maybe this stems from the many trips I made for slushies to 7/11 as a child. It may also be because of the phrase "lucky seven." But seven has always been something to look forward to for me.

When I was seven years old, it was the happiest year of my childhood that I can remember. We lived down the street from one of my aunts, so my older brother and I got to visit her and our cousins on a regular basis. There was a park, well really, a playground on the corner with a merry-go-round, which was big, metal, whirling fun. My parents broke up when I was seven, something, unlike other children, made me happy. They always used to fight and it literally made me ill to the stomach so I was excited when they seperated. It was also before my mom became involved with R, her first husband who abused me and my older brother and shattered the innocence I felt in my seventh year. Though I have forgiven all those involved in that far away period of my life, I am reminded of my innocence as Ky's birthday approaches.

I vividly remember Ky as a baby. He was and still is a beautiful boy. His eyes were big and round like Elle's. He was always happy, just like he is today most of the time. He was my joy through a lot of difficult moments. His feet were soft. His hands were pudgy. He had kissable chubby cheeks. He was perfection. I still see him this way.

I wonder if I was ever looked upon like that. Perfection. I wonder how, if I was looked on as the perfect, innocent girl I was, how someone would consciously choose to harm me in such a way. I know that I was sexually molested, but don't remember the details of what happened. My child mind is still protecting me from the memories, something I am grateful for, as I don't want to remember. Who wants to remember potentially horrible things? But, I know that the years I was abused damaged me in such a way that my life took on a different path. I feel that it (my life) is suppose to be on this path, but can't help but wonder what would have been changed if the abuse I suffered had not occurred.

So now my son, my sweet baby boy, is turning lucky number seven. I hope that I will continue to see his perfection. That just because his cheeks are no longer chubby, his hands are long with slender fingers, his feet are starting to callous, that I will still see him as beautiful and know that he needs protection. His eyes are still big and round. They remind me of both of our innocence as long as they still look back at me, I know I won't forget and that he will always be my joy.