The Hardest Thing.

Its has been twelve days since I saw Mijo, held his hand, tickled and gave him hard loving squeezes. Asked him what he learned today, not minding if he couldn’t remember, but making a little joke of “apparently you didn’t learn anything”. Watching cartoons together, Avatar: The Last Airbender, or his latest run of Samurai 7 by Akira Kurosawa. Telling him to turn off You Tube. Warming up his Boyardee ravioli. Asking him if he did his homework. These things I remember like it just happened, one second ago. But what hurts most is the Ritual. The Ritual of me and Mijo, anytime I would drop him off at school he would open the door, Hold it open and wait for me to say these words. “Learn something new,” “Always do your best” and “I love you” . He would say “I will” and “I love you too daddy” than close the door and walk to school. I would drive slowly away till he got to the school gate. The Ritual. It was taken from me like Jesus’s second coming. The thief did come twelve days ago, and I didn’t realize it till that night. And since then i have been nothing but pain and emptiness.

Twelve days. And they will enumerate. And every day afterward will be counted out.

Mijo is my son, and thats how my culture endears one. And thats how he will be referred here


love (informal) (a un hijo)

(Am Br), honey (United States); dear ; pal , mate (British), buddy (United States) (a un adulto)(entre iguales)

Twelve days ago my friend, lover, my collaborator against the world, my wife, decided to take Mijo away from me for one simple reason.


It’s a hard thing to endure. Because I thought of it many years ago. I saw it constantly in our first years together. Her being the highly educated one, the one with paper. And me, just a vato who worked hard to get out of the barrio, just barley mind you. But I did. And I saw it, a livid daydream played out in a million scenario’s. One day I would not stimulate her, suffice. Not being able to share in the meaning of great works and plays and all things academia.

I will now refer to my wife as Fantine.

Twelve days ago Fantine’s plan went into affect. I read it. It was planned, with co-conspirators, months ago. Fantine’s plan was to make Jean suffer. Suffer for her freedom.

I will now refer to myself as Jean.

Jean is suffering. Plan worked.

I am not sharing this because I need to make myself a victim. No, that I will not consider nor endorse. I am sharing this because of many other selfish and unselfish reasons. But this one comes to mind to me, a common law of humanity that isn’t enforced nor practiced, children first. Children are the most important things in this world. It is children who become us. If we shit on children, shit rules the world. Simple. Fantine is shitting on Mijo. There are no nice ways of saying it, I also will be shitting on Mijo. Not because I want to, but because I have been forced to, but unlike the manner of Fantine’s method, that massive steaming pile of foul feces that ranks and convulses – method. Jean’s method will be the one where he fights back, against the system, against selfishness and injustice, perceived or real. Jean will use a method better described as small, diminutive pellets that smell of shirazi and cucumber – method. I am sharing this because its hard telling the same story over and over to the people you respect and love. It is really hard to keep the pain away from you when we talk. There are other reasons, and they will come to light soon.

I am also trying to protect Mijo, that means I have gone Dragnet on you.

Ladies and gentlemen: the story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

So that means if you got this link from me its because you have meaning in my life, or did once before. It is OK to share this link. But my only condition is you do not share my name, my wife’s name and most definitely Mijo’s name. Not to anyone! Please this is serious and can reflect badly on me in a court of law. Thats just a guess, by the way, I can’t afford a lawyer yet. but still…

I plan to write every day here. Of what is happening and what has happened. It’s a way for me survive and fight on for the day i can hold Mijo again.

Until then, tell your loved ones that you love them, hold them tight. Because you never know when darkness comes knocking on your door.


This entry was posted in Writing to deal with pain.. Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to The Hardest Thing.

  1. Debbie mw says:

    So sorry jean. I hope things work out.

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