I knew I loved you before you were even
born, and I instantly took to mothering you as my own. You were my dear,
sweet little boy -- blonde hair and bright blue eyes, chubby cheeks and joyous
laugh. You were cherished by everyone that surrounded you, and you
returned their love -- in your youth. You offered smiles and hugs; you
wrote me letters and drew pretty pictures. I adored you and you admired
me -- in your youth. I tucked you under the covers and read you endless
bedtime stories. I remember you first fumbling over words, then becoming
more confident, until together we had mastered that first book -- Ten in Bed. And the little one
said, “Roll over; roll over,” those sweet words repeated in my head, happily
inflated with pride. You learned from me and you accepted my love -- in
your youth.
I was determined to protect you from
everything bad and ugly in this world -- boogie monsters and bullies. I
could look under your bed and tell you no monsters dwelled there. I could
peak in your closet and holler, then announcing I had scared the beasts away.
I would protect you from dangers both imagined and immediate.
I still remember him cursing and
shaking you -- a frightened five-year-old. He was angry, frustrated,
irrational in his reaction. I cursed back and pushed him boldly away from
you. I held you and rocked you. You didn’t have to go to school
that day if the kids were picking on you, and he wouldn’t be allowed to pick on
you either because I was there to provide protection. We stayed
home and snuggled back in bed, and I again felt insurmountable pride for having
kept you safe and sound. I wanted you to feel secure and loved. I
could offer you that security and protection -- in your youth.
But then you grew, and we grew apart.
I learned I couldn’t protect you from everything bad and ugly because
sometimes the monsters aren’t outside. They can’t be defeated with fists
or fights. They don’t live under beds or hide in closets. They don’t push
you on the playground or rage irrationally when you refuse to arise from bed.
The worst monsters live deep inside of
you. Those demons that dwell within you are familiar to me as well; I too
have lived that hell. They reside in the relentless, looping thoughts
determined to convince you of your worthlessness. They delight in the
anger that boils up in your belly and trickles out of your mouth in wicked,
unintended words. Those monsters are liars and scoundrels, but you
believe their blasphemy and let them conquer you. In their reign, they
have eradicated your childhood contentment. You have forgotten the easy
pleasures of your youth.
If I could, I would restore your
youthful joy that I might see you smile sincerely once again. I would don armor
and slay those monsters, but you keep them too well hidden to be defeated.
I could help if you would only take my hand, but the hatred that
accompanies those beasts prevents this. I’m not disappointed or angry,
though, because I know. I know how hard it is to ask for help. I
know how hard it is to fight those damned demons, but I also need you to know
that I still adore you as you once admired me -- in your youth.
"Wow" doesn't suffice. But...wow.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
DeletePowerfully written and emotionally felt.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Bill. I'm glad the emotion was evident.
DeleteThis was very powerful. I know those hidden monsters are the worst.
ReplyDeleteYes, they certainly are. Thank you, Marcy.
Deleteintense, beautiful and sad.
ReplyDeleteThank you. I hope the individual I wrote it for finds it beautiful.
DeleteAngela, this piece was heartbreaking. I admire the honesty of your voice here.
ReplyDeleteKaren
Thank you. I still feel there's a bit of hope here though because love is still there.
DeleteHits close to home. Heartfelt, and very real.
ReplyDeleteThank you. Sorry, however, that it hit so close to home.
DeleteVery strong, but thoughtful. I read the time you put into this. I wish it were fiction, it reads a bit that way, but I understand fully it is not.
ReplyDeleteThank you. This was a bit more difficult piece because I didn't want to make the subject of the work too evident as not to offend or embarrass him. It would have been easier were it fiction.
Delete"the worst monsters live deep inside you". Yes, Yes, they do. This was a gripping read. Thanks for showing bravery in posting this.
ReplyDeleteThank you; how wonderful to have my words described as "gripping" given that my husband said I was only "more than adequate."
DeleteI'm a little teary reading this. It reminds me of someone close to me...
ReplyDeleteIt probably reminds most people of someone they know. It's hard to read in that sense, but I appreciate your comments.
DeleteAh. This is heartbreaking. Beautiful share.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much.
Deleteoh honey. this was so very raw and honest and beautiful and hard. so hard. and sad. thank you so much for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading and commenting.
DeleteThis hits home for me.
ReplyDeleteIsn't it true? Prayers for whatever you're dealing with that this hit so close to home.
DeleteHe still has your love inside him, protecting him in ways unseen. Beautiful post.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your comments on the post, and your kind words about the power of love to protect in ways unseen.
DeleteSince we don't talk nearly openly enough about mental illness in general, it means that we haven't given parents a place to express their fears about things like heredity. Aside from being well written, this is an important post for that reason alone. And it describes so well kids' tendency to create distance as they get older, compounded by a struggle you unfortunately know too well. Sad but lovely.
ReplyDeleteYes. Oh, Karen, your words are spot on in summarizing this post. Thanks for all your kind words all of the time.
DeleteAngela, I'll say "you're welcome," because I truly mean it, but I also want to say, "It's easy, because you deserve it." You write well, you're funny, you tackle tough stuff with an honesty that is not so much brutal as flat-out powerful. Yours is a voice that should speak a little more loudly than those of us who are hanging out, writing bodily function jokes. Not that I ever do that. Well, no more than twice a post.
DeleteWow. Beautiful and powerful post. Actually gave me shivers as I read it -- thank you for sharing what must be a very difficult story.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your kind comments.
DeleteLike a punch in the gut-- good writing makes me FEEL.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Christie! I am so glad to have such emotional responses to this post because I surely felt it when I was writing it.
Delete