Tuesday, April 24, 2012

To My Dear Boy

To my dearest son,
Tomorrow you turn fifteen.  It is a birthday we will not be celebrating.  There is a heaviness in my heart that wants to break the decision I have made, feeling I am being cruel to you.  The feeling that a mother should always forgive her child's trespasses, even when they are abusive and ongoing.  Then your words fly up like daggers—hateful things like, "dummy!", "duh!", "you're a pathetic mom", "you're a loser", "I hate you!", "you're the reason our life sucks", and "you can't get a job because you're such a loser".  And I remember why I hurt and ache and must follow through with our family's decision.

I know your days in our house are limited.  You are not functional at home.  You sleep or scream when you are here.  You are failing all your classes in school.  You have broken the law several times.  You are no longer the child I knew.

I pray every night that someone, somewhere, will help me find a way to get you into a psychiatric hospital and on the medication you so desperately need.  If not, I know your time is ticking away before you will be in juvenile detention.  My heart, as a mother, breaks for you as I know you are mentally ill.  But I cannot allow you to continue to hurt everyone in the house, and physically endanger your family.

In my worst moments I am lost in a hell of our own making, of your making, that I willingly enter with you.  I don't know why but I can't let you dive in alone.  I can't let it be your problem.  I am your mother, and some part of me believes if I just argue hard enough I will win the fight.

In our best moments I laugh with you, hug you, remember how much I love you.  I'm not afraid of your explosions.  I want to be with you.  But those times have become so few and far between, I miss them terribly.

Tomorrow you are one year older, and I realize very heavily that you have only three years left in my care.  I miss you already, but I pray that we can work things out together before it is too late.  I pray that one day you will understand why your family has chosen not to celebrate with you, why we cannot manufacture a false joy for you tomorrow when our hearts are so heavy.  I hope that one day you will read this and know that your mother not only laughed with you, not only cried for you, but held you in her heart every moment you breathed a breath.
I love you,
Your mother

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