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5 More Minutes – Approaching 50 and Fabulous
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5 More Minutes

August 23, 2016

Should have, could have, would have…

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve…

Shoulda, coulda, woulda…

I think about these 3 words a great deal these days.  

What I shoulda and coulda done, if only I woulda had 5 more minutes with Anthony…

An eternity of shoulda, coulda, woulda never happens. 

First and foremost, I could have potentially kept him from leaving home on that fateful evening.  Or, at least delayed his departure long enough for there to be adequate space in the time continuum for me to disrupt the events that lead to his death.  

5 minutes is an eternity when you need to be somewhere. It can also be a millisecond.  

I opt for eternity. 

With 5 more minutes, I could have kissed him one last time. Put my arms around him tight for a bear hug, like I always do.  

I kissed him last that Thursday night the 28th of January.  

I grab his face whenever I want him to know I mean it, especially on the bad days. “Look at me. I love you.”  

He always says “I love you too Ma.”  

If only I had those minutes I would have heard those words on Friday, January 29th. Seen those water blue eyes.  He got his eyes from my sister, Jen.  

Gorgeous clear as crystal waters of the Cayman Islands blue eyes.  

7 Mile Beach has nothing on his blue eyes…

With 5 more minutes, I could take back the last text I sent him. Or at least make up for it.  Not that it deserves making up for, Anthony is a real shit at times.  He pushes my proverbial last button and makes me use words like “shit,” “fuck,” and “asshole.” A LOT.  

When is this son of mine not the bane of my existence?   

I read the last texts I sent him.  

My eyes tear at the words, as fresh and raw as ever. 

We were arguing via text about him finding steady work.   It isn’t pretty.  Anthony isn’t the most industrious lad. I have lost all patience.  I said he should start to consider moving out, strongly.  Or his “shit would be on the curb when he gets home.”  He said he didn’t want to talk about this via text and “goodbye.”   

All I have after that are texts from me to him (not knowing he was in hospital) asking where the hell he was and to “get the hell home.”  I shoulda had more patience, or at least slowed down in my initial texts.  I respond so quickly and with such venom where he is concerned.   

Tough love, Momma style.  

5 more minutes could result in me being softer, kinder, even peppering in an “I love you Asshole” into to the text dialogue. 

The last “I love you” text – January 15.

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda…  

At least I SAID it to him. The night before.  A physical, look you in the eyes “I love you,” that has to mean more, right? 

Of course seeing his eyes has more meaning when he says “I love you.” It always does.  But to know he typed the physical words into his phone means he was thinking it at the time. He made his own effort. 

With 5 more minutes, I could have ensured his brothers got to reconcile their differences. Anthony knows how to get Luciano and Joey on the same page.  He always gets them to agree and be loving to the other.  Anthony could prepare them for the time to come, without him.  

Anthony can tell Luciano how to accept his older brother’s independent spirit.  He could tell Joey to stay home more, be his youngest brother’s rock and role model.  Anthony would ensure they had it all figured out.  He isn’t industrious on the career front, but he cares more about his 2 brothers than anything else. 

Family first.  

Anthony would have it all sorted.  Everyone’s role and responsibility defined.  No questions, hurt feelings or future conflict.  They will listen to him.  

With 5 more minutes, Anthony and his Dad could share one more smile or at least that’s what I hope. They had a good day that Friday.  Diner for breakfast, had a late lunch and then he was gone. I have not asked Lou what he would do with 5 more minutes yet.  He and I are in different places at times.  My thoughts are too instrusive sometimes.  He has said many times he wished he didn’t let Anthony leave the house.  

So let’s have them share another smile. 

My article, my call for now. 

How do you stop a 24 year old from leaving?

With 5 more minutes who knows what I woulda been capable of?

With 5 more minutes who knows what I coulda changed?  His fate?

With 5 more minutes…

An eternity of shoulda, coulda, woulda never happens. 


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