divinewrites

When I had my first child the world took on new meaning-things shifted seismically, I knew that things would never be the same, they couldn’t-they shouldn’t. The focus moved from me & what I may want to the basic needs of another human being. Suddenly I was responsible for someone else, their life depended on me, they needed me. That need felt overwhelming & amazing at the same time. Truth be told, I never wanted to be a mother, never believed that I had what it takes, never thought I could do a decent job at caring for a child.

I love kids- I had helped take care of many of them as a teenager when my mother worked at a church in my hometown–I had counseled at various camps, I knew HOW to care for a child, what I didn’t know was whether I could adequately love a baby…..Did I have the skills & the tools-could I emulate what I had seen as a role model? Wait-I didn’t necessarily have the most stellar role models ( how does one define a role model anyway?) I grew up in a household that was full of competition, conflict, & chaos. While we all survived, the examples I had of what it takes to be a parent provided me with some pretty damaging narratives..(truth be told, at 48, I’m still battling many of those narratives—the pen IS mightier than the sword after all)

I learned to be a work horse, racehorse. I learned the be a show pony-I learned that putting on a good front was more important that reality. Earning love was deeply ingrained in my psyche-knowing that accomplishments & right modes of behavior was the key to positive interactions. I knew ultimately that I would never be good enough to receive the kudos, (but dang, I keep trying!). The constant battle of being “good enough” & “too much” was waged early on (and still exists) with pleas to modify my actions and words happening on the daily. “If you would only…..” was a consistent message-I lived it, breathed it, adopted it into my being & let it claim me. (isn’t “if only” a message of regret?)

While I realized I was a work in progress, I also lived into the fact that hurting people hurt others- that if I operated with so many damaging & dangerous messages & memories-the likelihood would be that I would transfer those to any children I may have. I feared that- I feared messing up another human being, instilling in them a boatload of issues that only a counselor’s couch could tackle. I couldn’t do that to them…..but God intervened with a beautiful baby boy, not once, but twice.

To say I was smitten with my sons is an understatement-(like who wouldn’t be?). That first baby taught me so much. He was intense from the very first moment he was born. (he loves to hear HIS story) He loves to hear how when he was born, he locked eye contact with me, didn’t break his stare, & took in the whole situation-with nary a cry. (he made up for that later) The nurses agreed he was a captivating baby-his energy, his look, his personality made one stop & do a doubletake- (almost like whiplash) He only amplified these tendencies as he grew older.

He forced me to think outside the box, I could not depend on the books that told me the best way to do this or that- he drove me to my knees more than once…..he frustrated, angered, tried, and inspired me from day 1 (he still does). He also allowed me to dream. Each time I held this baby boy & gazed in his eyes, I was filled with hope- I saw a future for him that was pregnant with promise. When we had to hospitalize him & he received a triple mental health diagnosis, my heart sank & pieces of it shattered. I saw the years unfolding before him & all I could see were question marks. ( is he The Riddler?)

As time progressed, I saw such incredible talent & intelligence eek out of his every pore. I saw potential & I prayed for a future that glittered like diamonds. And just as quickly as I saw this, the claws of the mental health obstacles sunk their hold, grabbing him by the shoulders, grounding him in one spot. The cement that encased him still exists–& with each endeavor some parts seem heavier…..

I’ve written before about this, his first year of college that ended on a less than stellar note- what I haven’t expressed is what watching from the sidelines & sometimes, in the thick of it is like. In a nutshell, it’s hell.

I will doggedly advocate for my son, I will never stop fighting for him, never stop anticipating what his future holds- never stop praying. I believe in him-that belief will never waiver. What is so hard to admit is what this does to my own soul. It rips it apart at the seams- it hurts- it angers me. Now, you may be asking, what is the IT?

His limitations, his mental health obstacles, his immaturities inhibit what I have long seen as incredible potential. And it infuriates me. I feel endlessly guilty-Did I do this to him? I feel angry at myself for feeling like I haven’t done enough-that the baby boy I cared for & dreamed of each time I held him is gone- those dreams are replaced with what sometimes feels like an uphill battle & often I feel defeated by it. And, I am scared- terrified. I am scared for his outlook-what do jobs look like-can he handle school? I am scared for relationships that I yearn for him to have, knowing that social skills are not always a top priority. Will he find someone who will set his heart & life on fire? Will they care for him in a way that shows him that he is seen, heard, and loved for who he is? Will he be able to care for a household-earn a paycheck & budget as needed? I see the bond between him & his younger brother growing taut with tension as they ice each other out of their lives…..it saddens me to watch that & know that right now, there is nothing I can do (they both need time to grow up ).

I feel powerless. I feel like a bad mother, that for all the moments when I said “I will never make my child feel like…._”, here we are, daily battling to find motivation, a happy medium, some answer that will spark change & light his path forward ( I can’t believe I just ended that sentence with a prep- bah!)

Above all, I feel alone.

It is such a lonely place to see your child hurt- it feels debilitating. It also feels out of control. (and for this type A, hyper vigilant mom, that is a lethal combo) It feels like I can never do enough & what I do try ends up being too much (remember those narratives? Well, here they are!). I rarely feel like I have a safe place to vent, rarely can express what I am really thinking without the onslaught of judgment that we as a society are so quick to jump to nowadays. Rarely do I have the words to make this all ok-and that feels worse. Sometimes it feels like I am swimming underwater, holding my breath, willing my lungs to maintain just a little longer, when in reality, they are barely holding on in the first place. I want to scream at the heavens, begging the powers that be to restore my son. And then the guilt comes back full force. The guilt that chides me more than a little forcefully to accept my son just as he is-to envelop him in all that love that I have (do I have enough?), to realize that he is a gift, beautifully & wonderfully made. And the merry-go-round of shame, acceptance, joy, pain begins again in earnest.

So the above pic is of my X-Man. He is named after Professor X of the famed X-Men series, ( and let’s just admit that Patrick Stewart is THE bomb!) he embodies that name-he is insightful, intuitive, spiritual, wicked smart, empathic, and a million other amazing things. These 2 pics are of the day he was dropped off & started his first real summer job, some 5 hours & another state away at Wesley Acres in Dazey, ND. He will spend the summer as a camp counselor, teaching, interacting, & so many things that speak to his soul. I am excited for him & nervous as hell. Can he do it? Will he discover parts of himself that we knew were always there? Can he follow through? Will this fill his soul? Will he find himself-will he be a reliable employee & a role model for the campers with whom he interacts? Will he be able to get along with staff & his roommates (will they keep the staff cabin clear of edibles to ward off critters)? Will he enjoy himself & learn something in the process? Will mom be ok, knowing that I can’t get to him at the sound of his call? Will the wheels come off? Can I trust what he’s telling me- will he remember to take his meds- re-order his patch when he’s running low-the list goes on and on.

A short time after we unloaded him, I glanced up at the residence quarters for the camp site directors & noticed that he had retrieved his guitar, harmonica, & a pair of drumsticks. There he was, guitar splayed on his lap, pick in hand, playing & instructing a captive audience of about 4 younger elementary aged children (some of whom may struggle with similar stuff as my son). He sat there playing & teaching just as naturally as if he had known them for years (umm, he had been on site for all of 30 minutes). My heart filled with so much emotion I had to look down for fear that my own feelings would get the better of me &I would bust out in tears at any moment. Instead I smiled, waved, yelled that I love him & to have a good summer. What I really wanted to do was run up there, take him in my arms, hold him close, ruffle his hair, & whisper, “let this summer mold you-let the Spirit & the nature around you speak to your soul-healing the rough patches, let the site directors care for you in ways that I cannot, and remember, you are beautifully & wonderfully made, & I love you.”

I didn’t though. I smiled, turned on my heel, headed for the car & sighed as I took my seat. He’s 19- off for another adventure-& I have to continually remind myself to let him go-let the chips fall where they may, while instilling him with the confidence that when needed, I will always be there to help pick him up. I so hope though, that at the end of this journey, we have reason to celebrate a successful season-that is what keeps gnawing at my guts-the dread that is ever present. BAH! For now though, I have one more pic to share that speaks volumes more than my written words ever could………