A few blogs back, I wrote about the imaginary line and what topics we as social creatures have difficulty discussing (find it here).  A few individuals called me out, saying that I would not be willing to talk about some of the topics I listed if they happened to me.  I shrugged (metaphorically) and pretty much responded we would not know if I would or not until such a thing did happen to me.  I have always believed the Universe/God/Goddess/Monkey-Drummer has a wickedly evil sense of humor, and it has once again been proven true.  We now have an opportunity to prove whether or not I would talk about one of those painful, tragic topics.

Buckle up, folks.  We are going back in time a little first.

Last February, I started an online Dom/sub relationship with a woman I identified as Aurora on this blog.  Aurora and I had planned on it being a purely online, textual exploration of a sexual lifestyle we were both missing from our daily, three-dimensional lives.  Aurora was engaged to a man who is an extremely jealous and controlling individual, and the more we engaged in our secret online fun the more true emotions were forged.  Eventually, we realized we were in love.

Not a big deal for me, being polyamorous and all.  Very big deal for her, as she knew her fiance would not countenance such a lifestyle change.  I made an ethical error, allowed her to visit me to escape (metaphorically) from his domineering attitude.  Our online play became play in reality.  The relationship continued to grow, to the point Aurora told her fiance that it was over.  This was not a lie to appease me, I saw the text she sent him and his responses back (which, in my opinion, were borderline emotionally abusive).  There was a night where she was afraid and tortured to the point in needing to leave their house, I drove four hours to get her into a hotel room, and he actually locked her outside for about an hour so she could not get her bag.

There are dangers in long distance polyamorous relationships, and not everything was perfect as Aurora tried to explore this new idea with me.  We had a fight when she had a one-night stand with a former lover without communicating with me beforehand.  But, we were moving forward.  I felt that with all the challenges, we could still grow into something profound and wonderful.  But then, as it has recently, the Monkey-drummer-driven-Universe threw a wrench into the process.

Aurora was pregnant.

I had used protection, but it had broken one episode and I did not immediately stop.  But Aurora was fairly certain the child was her (ex) fiance’s.  She told me on a phone call that she was thinking of going back to him.  I begged her not to, that I would love and help raise the child regardless if I was the biological father or not.  I thought I had convinced her to keep talking about it, as she agreed to another phone call the next day.  But she did not answer.  Ever again.  That was the end of what I consider a very important (albeit short-lived) romance in the middle of April.

Aurora and the man she had chosen were married near the beginning of May.  I only knew because her brothers (high school friends of mine) were still on my Facebook feed.  She did not contact me again directly, nor did I try to contact her either.  But I learned, again through a post from her brother, in August that she had lost the child in July – stillborn.  I was sad for her, but by that time was so distanced from our past together that the only real emotions I could sustain when I thought about her was anger at being left so unceremoniously or indifference.  I mean, she and her now husband even had a joint Facebook account, international sign that someone cheated and the other person is now controlling their media output, so there was no “her” for me to know anymore.  It was them.  Hence the indifference, mostly.

Have you figured out where this is going?  Of course you have.  Aurora… Sabrina… emailed me this week to tell me she is fairly certain the child she lost was mine, and not her now-husband’s.  I had a son, and lost a son, seven months ago that I did not get the opportunity to know in any way.  I was livid.  All I could think about was all the moments I did not get to be a part of:  I never got to hear his heartbeat at a doctor visit, I never got to see him on the sonograms, and I never got to talk to him through the belly as his mom rested.  My wife cannot have children, so possibly the one chance I had at being a dad was taken from me by a woman making a scared decision to run back to an asshole of a man.

I am still a little angry about it.  I think that is a reasonable reaction.

My second reaction was disbelief.  Yes, I was bouncing between the typical stages of grief.  She is wrong.  Why would she be telling me this now?  My girlfriends’ reactions were nearly identical:  is she using this to get back into your life?  We cannot know for sure the child was yours.  How is this your issue?  I told myself to just ignore all this drama, and keep moving forward.

My third reaction went back to anger and I emailed her back.  I was mean and upset.  She apologized and explained.  She had admitted her affair to the husband, and she thinks in his heart he never believed the child was his after that.  That settled something in my mind.  It did not matter why Sabrina was telling me this now:  for closure or a cry for help or a way to reconnect or whatever.  What did matter was this child deserved a father to claim him and keep his memory alive.  It was about her son… and at that moment I decided he was my son as well.

Ladies and gentlemen, I had a son.  His name was Noah.  He is and will be loved by me for the rest of my life.

I instantly made plans to drive eight hours, round trip, to view Noah’s resting place and pay my respects.  I invited Sabrina to join me if she wished, as she had mentioned that she and her husband rarely talked about Noah due to bastard-husband’s reluctance.  She said she would try, and if she could not she asked that I send her pictures of the spot.  Am I the only one who finds that weird?  She wanted me to send her pictures… as if she has not been there before?

What… the… fuck?

Now I do not know that for sure, and maybe she will read this and correct me and say, “No, I just had not been there for a long time and wanted new pictures.”  But to me it sounded like she had not been there yet.  And she did not join me that day.  She could not “get away from the house.”  She did try to arrange to meet me at a different park closer to her house so we could get closure on our relationship, but could not make it out to the cemetery.  And she was only using email to arrange things, which is not the best method for quick planning.  Why was she only using email?  Is her husband still so paranoid that he checks her phone for calls and texts… because I did send her my number to make things easier, but she never used it.

But back to Noah.

I spent a good two hours sitting on a bench, talking to my son.  A few times, I heard words back.  Delusion?  Angels passing messages?  Beats on that celestial monkey’s drum?  I do not know.  It was comforting though.  I left a card at the monument, addressed to Noah Mom’s maiden name – My last name. Fuck her married name.  I cleaned up the other assorted toys and flowers left at the site, took some pictures, drove home, and sent the photos to Sabrina.  I am already planning to go back around his birthday in July – this time with my wife in tow (she is his step-mom after all).

I had a son I will never get to know.  But Noah is now forever part of my family.  And I am completely willing to talk about this with anyone, at any time, in any way.  Because Noah’s dad does not back away from that imaginary line.  He embraces it.

memorial
See you again soon, Noah
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