You stole your Auntie Kupa’s heart long before you two ever met. I recall precisely the day I realized “it was written”. In November I was admitted to the hospital and placed on medical bedrest to prevent very premature labor. All eyes were on you. But, Kupa wan’t satisfied. She needed to see for herself that her Baby Blue was in good hands. (We didn’t officially know you were “boy” anything. But, your crazy Kupa insisted she did.) Fielding phone calls was challenging. Providing anyone with an update of any type was impossible; our condition changed like the impending winter wind. So, Kupa did what she does best: took matters into her own hands. She set out on an impromptu trek across the state. The roads were icy, the sky dark, the air bitter. Kupa cared not. She was on a mission. Donning her trademark combat boots, head band, and black leather jacket – Kupa made her grand entrance at WAWM Hospital. With a flash of her smile and a wink of her eye, she managed to sweet talk her way past the Nurse station, right into my “No-Visitors Allowed” corner-suite room. That part isn’t surprising in the least. If there are rules (or laws) to be broken, Kupa is there to do so. Usually with a sly tilt of her head and a mannerly, “Thank you very much, mother fucker.” But that’s besides the point.
Prior to coming to the hospital, Kupa made a quick pit stop to pick up some (unnecessary) gifts for you. Among the lot of items: an array of outfits. In the event you came early, she wanted to be sure you had “…fly shit to wear”. My favorite of the bunch was one you ultimately wore so very often: a green and white stripped, fuzzy, snap up pajamas with froggie eyes where your toes went, and a froggie face atop of your tiny dupa. Following in a close second: a black onesie with a plaid patterned skull on it – complete with matching socks and two different bibs…each with a variant skull and bones.
I didn’t get to spend time with Kupa that day. Moments after her unexpected arrival, Momma was whisked off to a room, which resembled NASA headquarters, for observations. A very long ultra sound, as well as a slew of other tests – all which involved pokes, prods, gels, head lamps, and heat lamps ensued. After an eternity of conferring, questioning, and talking in coded doctor lingo, each member of our ‘High Risk Maternal Fetal Pregnancy’ team concurred “…that is one happy, healthy baby…who is perfect in every way. Our biggest hurdle will be keeping mom pregnant.” (The time the entire world was most concerned about your viability was precisely when you were the safest you’d ever be. The irony of it all now makes me vomit.) Alas, hearing the words “…happy and healthy baby” caused me to spontaneously burst into tears of sheer relief. I knew in my heart there was simply no way I would deliver you early. I refused to let my body fail you.
Before leaving the NASA-like procedure room, I was hooked back up to bells, whistles, buzzers and a computer monitor which tracked your every move. My tummy was lubed and strapped tightly with two heart monitors: one for me, one for you. I’m pretty sure they hooked us up directly to the red-line at the Oval Office too. When we were ready to roll, a small brigade of dear nurses wheeled us back to my room. Lying in the middle of my bed, propped on my pillows, was the most frightening zombie, voodoo, gangsta doll-esque creature I’ve ever seen. The sight of this ghastly thing caused Momma to burst out in shot-gun laughter: a hearty, deep-from-the-soul laughter – which should’ve thrown me directly into labor. Your Kupa is one sick, twisted chic. A sick, twisted chic who has a heart gold once she decides she loves someone. Although we quickly agreed your “Kupa Dolly” was the most beautifully misunderstood doll-esque critter in the world, we tucked it safely away in your closet…just for good measure. Your Daddy said you could have it when you were two. I said when you were 19.
Your Kupa checked on you a few times a week for the next 13 long, nerve-wrecking weeks we remained on strict bed-rest. Naturally, she came to see you many times after you were born…both before you were sick and a host of times thereafter; whether we were in the H.O.T. unit or at home for what always proved to be far too short of a stay. In hindsight, it is so very clear. From the very beginning, nothing could keep Kupa away from her beloved Baby Blue: an unfriendly work schedule, hectic wedding planning, four dogs and a home to tend to, sparse money, temperate weather, a beautiful fiancé, long distance treks, least of all – mother fucking cancer. Paxton, your Auntie Kupa would have given her life to spare yours…her heart to spare your Momma’s. I hope you know by now, you are one of the most cherished loves of her life. Kupa would do anything, anything in this world to protect you, your name, your honor, your spirit. Simply put, when it comes to her Baby Blue, all bets are off.
Kupa knows of Zombies, ganstas, and tattoos. She knows of bats, chains, swords, and guns. Truth be told, she knows of all things badass. Kupa knows bad mamma jammas who are so bad, and so jamma that when they dare come into public – she never uses their real names. Coincidentally enough, Kupa also knows her way to Indiana.
Your Kupa tells me she’s heading to a small town in Indiana to tend to some business regarding her Baby Blue. Word on the (underground) street is – she ain’t rolling alone.
I love you. I miss you. I hope you are safe.
Stay with me Sweet Boy,