Friday
Moderator
Every stage my son has gone through, I’ve figured out a way to manage the… terror… of what COULD be.
For the first half of his childhood? That meant making things as amazing as possible. There are too many dead kids, brutalised kids, lost kids, hurt kids, in my past. Not my fault, at least not mostly, but kids are hard. Full stop. And some things haunt.
The self-aware thing meant I had about 50 workarounds for my most common failings as a mother. And, to be fair, they did work.
The second half of his childhood I had to switch gears into Vengeance mode, in order to manage. He WILL come back to me. Or I will raise hell. Unleash hell. Rain down hell. <<< I made a bad decision & divorced his father instead of killing his father, or taking my son & fleeing the country. Follow 9 years of child abuse & the very normal/expected results of child abuse. Never knowing from week to week if I’d be greeted at my door by TheKiddo or police or CPS doing a death notification. Not an unrealistic fear. My ex put my son in the PICU several times, and my son attempted suicide -serious attempt- on one occasion where the social workers didn’t realize I hadn’t been notified of the attempt, so when they came to talk to me about my son having hanged himself? Their wording left out the part where he survived. I almost didnt. Shock. Heart attack level collapse. >>> Vengeance may not have been the best way to manage? But it was all I could come up with. Legally. Ish. As every other option I played out was worse. It got me through. By the skin of my teeth, but c’est la vie.
NEW STAGE!!! So it’s a rough one, for me. As I haven’t figured out how to cope with it, yet.
TheKiddo is an adult. Doing adult things. Like being 20 at a 21-run bday party, too wasted to come home. Fair. Reasonable. The safe smart thing at one of those parties IS to stay over. It would be crazy rare for anything except a puking level hangover to result.
But me? I’m front-loading grief. As if any of the things that COULD happen… are guaranteed. And how little of his life he’s lived. And how hard it’s been for him. And WTF to do when the ER calls, or police show up at my door. Or I have to chase down “what happened” because we use Skype instead of the call history or contacts list the police would go off of.
Aaaaargh.
So. f*cking. Vexed.
I am so new at the adult life / adult responsibilities / adult consequences thing. As in his having one. And being one, now. And my being able to do so little. So late.
For the first half of his childhood? That meant making things as amazing as possible. There are too many dead kids, brutalised kids, lost kids, hurt kids, in my past. Not my fault, at least not mostly, but kids are hard. Full stop. And some things haunt.
The self-aware thing meant I had about 50 workarounds for my most common failings as a mother. And, to be fair, they did work.
The second half of his childhood I had to switch gears into Vengeance mode, in order to manage. He WILL come back to me. Or I will raise hell. Unleash hell. Rain down hell. <<< I made a bad decision & divorced his father instead of killing his father, or taking my son & fleeing the country. Follow 9 years of child abuse & the very normal/expected results of child abuse. Never knowing from week to week if I’d be greeted at my door by TheKiddo or police or CPS doing a death notification. Not an unrealistic fear. My ex put my son in the PICU several times, and my son attempted suicide -serious attempt- on one occasion where the social workers didn’t realize I hadn’t been notified of the attempt, so when they came to talk to me about my son having hanged himself? Their wording left out the part where he survived. I almost didnt. Shock. Heart attack level collapse. >>> Vengeance may not have been the best way to manage? But it was all I could come up with. Legally. Ish. As every other option I played out was worse. It got me through. By the skin of my teeth, but c’est la vie.
NEW STAGE!!! So it’s a rough one, for me. As I haven’t figured out how to cope with it, yet.
TheKiddo is an adult. Doing adult things. Like being 20 at a 21-run bday party, too wasted to come home. Fair. Reasonable. The safe smart thing at one of those parties IS to stay over. It would be crazy rare for anything except a puking level hangover to result.
But me? I’m front-loading grief. As if any of the things that COULD happen… are guaranteed. And how little of his life he’s lived. And how hard it’s been for him. And WTF to do when the ER calls, or police show up at my door. Or I have to chase down “what happened” because we use Skype instead of the call history or contacts list the police would go off of.
Aaaaargh.
So. f*cking. Vexed.
I am so new at the adult life / adult responsibilities / adult consequences thing. As in his having one. And being one, now. And my being able to do so little. So late.