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The one that’s festering on my ocean floor.
Being. A. Single. Parent.
How and when I go from basically using my partner in crime’s shirt as a tissue, to clinging onto it with two hands like that bitch does that door in the movie Titanic, is a mystery, much like the exact amount of time that passes during my whispered confession about not wanting to be alone.
To go through any of this alone.
To wanting my child to have what it is I didn’t.
Two present parents.
Eventually, Calen pulls back just enough to use the pads of his thumbs to gingerly brush away the tears that he can. “You are not a great hammerhead, Bryn.”
“Because I won’t eat my own baby?”
“Because you are not a solitary creature.” More swipes at my cheeks are delivered. “You are the largest and most fit and most fierce shark that has formed her own school that consists of others who will play and love and protect you as much as your little pup.” An undeniably soft smile slides into place on his face. “You may hunt alone. You may occasionally separate and swim alone. But you are never actually alone.” His hands gently plop onto my shoulders. “We’re all here for you, babe. You just gotta move your body to communicate that you need us.”
It's impossible not to tease, “Pretty sure that’s against the rules in the handbook.”
“You make me wanna migrate to another group.”
“And you make me grateful that you can’t.”
A small chuckle precedes a gentle kiss to the middle of my forehead. “I love you too, Amphitrite.”
“I so would be the head bitch of the sea.”
“How about you be the head bitch of the tank and get Steven’s pre-evals over to Raquel before she returns to hang ten on another wave of ass chewing?”
Seeing his point – his very valid point – is what pushes me to give my face a quick wash in the sink, reapply some mascara, and hustle to the office area to send our boss the requested documentation while he begins his portion of the transition process.
As much as I tend to hate paperwork – and I really fucking do – today is different.
Today it provides me with a much-needed distraction.
Allows me to focus on Steven’s safety versus his sorrow.
My sorrow.
It forces me to keep my attention on the crucial protocols regarding the transport tank, the forklift, and the transfer trailer rather than my heart wrenching horror of losing my favorite creature.
In a way…my first born.
I mean he was the first being in this building I bonded with, and according to many of the aquatics in The Institute, I was the first one he developed any sort of relationship with.
Yet instead of obsessing over the ache of having to let go, having to let him grow up, and move on, I oversee our team along with K&T’s to insure he becomes properly sedated.
Secured in the netting.
That the harnesses are tight, and the safety straps are latched as well as reinforced once he’s in the exhibit tank.
Triple checking paperwork and lists prevents me from acknowledging the lump of grief lingering in my throat and gathering signatures from various employees that have to sign off on having done what’s requested of them aid in distracting me from the hopelessness heavily weighing on my shoulders, threating to crumple me to my knees.
Unlike the father of my child, I can’t simply crumble under this pressure.
I have to keep going.
I have to keep moving.
