I remember I was 4 or 5, reading a Barney book with your mom while you grew peacefully in her tummy. I remember you as a hyper little boy who had such wonder in his eyes. Although I was young as well, I can’t help but wonder if I could have done something to save you.
I wish I could go back in time, not to be young again myself, but to put myself into your life as the person i am now. I wish I could go back to when you were that little boy and stop the world from harming you. To show you the love you were robbed. I would call social services and get you taken from the woman and man that brought you in this world but didn’t help you achieve your dreams or encourage you in anyway and I would show you what a mother is suppose to be. I would shelter you from the pain and suffering that you felt, encourage you and empower you, believe in you and raise you to be better. It breaks my heart Dakota, that your little brother got and still gets everything you didn’t and don’t. That he’s close with both your parents and he’s surrounded with the love you should have been surrounded in. I’m sorry that you are pushed to the side while your brother drives a brand new 2016 jeep at only 17. I am sorry that from the day that he was born the attention has been on only him and that you were treated like the dirt beneath their shoes. I am sorry that no one was there to protect you when you were so young and so impressionable, that no one stepped in to save you from the abuse you suffered in the hands of your parents and your parents friends. I’m deeply sorry that my dad was one of those friends. I wish I could save you, that I could show you that there is still good in this world, but at this point I know there is no point of return. I wish I could run to you and hug you, tell you to make good choices but I know if I did your addiction would make you distrust me, and to rob me.
I wish you could see that your life matters, but after 20 years of being shown your worthless I don’t blame you for feeling that way. I don’t blame you for turning to the life you’ve turned to. I don’t blame you for trying to find comfort in a pipe or pill or needle. My heart breaks for you, but I don’t blame you.
I blame the adults that took away your innocence, I blame your mother for not loving you as much as she loves your brother. I blame your father for not growing up and being there to show you how to be a man. I blame the abuse that you were handed for no reason. I blame the government, the teachers, the family members and the friends that saw the abuse and didn’t help you; who didn’t stand up for a child who’s eyes and actions cried for help. I blame the world.
I feel no sympathy for the people at the sky train stations that look strung out, I say it’s their fault, that no one forced them to put that needle in their veins. But now that I know you are one of those poor souls my heart softens. I wish you would find it in you to seek and accept help, to get clean before you end up “just another dead junkie” on the streets of surrey. Your life matters Dakota.
Your good heart still shines brightly, your still that kind little boy and I wish you let him out more.
I’m sorry your in so much pain.