my chocolate

i listen for the sweet sound of my oldest son...there it is the sweet sound of his street slang"why you all up in my koolaid dont even know the flava?" not what every mom wants to hear..huh?yet as long its his sweet voice saying it i dont mind. my son lives 500 miles away from me physically and one million, congillion..trillion miles away from me in my heart. my lonely heart that breaks each time he leaves my side and dies each time he says  goodbye. keep in mind he comes every summer and holidays but each time he leaves me he grows another year and each year i see him my mind races to what i missed... cant miss what you dont have...bull#@*..I miss what i want...I WANT MY BABY BACK!!!!!!!!
the story is long and by all accounts should be on a Jerry Springer Show so I could knock my ex's lights out...until this past year  i could not say the ex's name without it being followed with shit, ass, bastard....and its not that i have become a better person but i caught myself in front of my son just about to say one of those choice words when i looked into my chocolates brown eyes and realized it hurt....him....he loves him, i cant remember why or if i ever did but dammm he loves him. so i must contain my anger towards this man who i affectionately refer to as sperm donor and bear it...all the anger must be put aside and ignored in his presence.
so it all started when he was two and a half...the seperation..not by choice but by necessity long story, my son is now 13 and saying mom i want to stay with you....with that i choke back the tears and look into those brown eyes and promise next year baby...next year...my son replies I'll be ready mom..next year...
what to do except bear it the seperation again, swallow my pride, harden what is left of my heart and go on...as i have for the past 10 and half years loving my son and living to love him...and as he walks away seeing the two and half year old waving goodbye to me and dying inside as he fades into the horizon for another year...
my sweet chocolate ...next year....next year....next year.....next year....next year....next year...yes, next year.