by Hannah Rice Myers

Created on: August 29, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

What if I had cared more that he was an illegal immigrant? What if I had taken his drug problem more seriously? What if I had realized sooner that his tendancy to fight wasn't a demonstration of bravery? Yeah, what if.

I loved that he loved me, I loved that he loved me no matter how much I weighed. I loved that he was handsome and funny. I loved all of these things so much that as the outer layers of his facade were peeled away and the reality of who he was became exposed, I made excuses. They were excuses that I used to justify staying with someone who was not what I thought him to be.

It wasn't long before I found myself telling my family wonderful stories about my life and how happy I was, even though I was slowly dying inside. It's amazing how you can almost talk yourself into believing your own fictional fairy tale. I mean, it didn't really matter that I had to work sixty hours a week due to the fact that he was illegal and couldn't get a job, right? He loved me.

And his addiction to marijuana, acid and cocaine, that was all okay because he promised after every use that he would stop once our baby was born. And the fact that he stayed out all night, arriving home the following afternoon while I was worried that he might be dead wasn't a big deal because deep down, he was a good person. I just kept telling myself that. I reminded myself that he was all I had ever wanted because he loved me for me and not my waist size.

And well, the street fights. I guess I could tolerate them. He was only defending his fellow gang members. I always stopped myself from asking him not to go. That would only have been selfish of me, wouldn't it? How much more could I ask of him? He already loved me. At least that's what he said and I kept telling myself that that's what really mattered.

When our baby was ten months old, reality finally hit and it hit hard. You see, being an illegal alien, a drug user and an active gang member do not mix well. And one night, he committed a crime, was charged with a felony and was deported. That was ten years ago. My son and I haven't seen him since.

My son is a reflection of his father; his chiseled features, his perfect complexion and his beautiful brown eyes. He's his father's twin, with the exception of his attitude. He's a loving, innocent child who is the reality which was formed from my idea of what I thought my true love was. Even through all of my what if's, I am grateful for him. Maybe one day my son will meet and know his father. Maybe.

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