Thursday, March 1, 2012

in the end is our beginning

He'd lied, and been sorry. He'd cried, and promised and walked away. For almost 10 years he's bounced before every bottom.

And I've been through every high and low, up and down, cushioning his fall. It's what I do. I am his mom.

Only this time he went too far. And I had to catch his grandparents and cushion their heart ache. Three generations is too many.

It's a line in the sand, this fracture in my heart.

For years I have honoured, as much as possible, The Oldest's profound need for privacy. Only this is also my story. He is my son, my hungry ghost, the most perfect and troubled and satisfying and heart-rending man I know. And I. I am his mother. And I also get to meet my needs to share, to be heard, to try to make sense of what our lives are the only way I know how - in words.

So this is our story, from my very particular perspective. Too close for a clear view. Too hopeful for realism. And sometimes also too scared and hurt and angry and sad. I share it here for you. I will share the memories, and the triumphs, and the challenges. And as I learn how to disrupt what I do that lets him do what he does, I hope you'll learn too.

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