My son got married last weekend on the shore of Lake Michigan.I was not there. From Instagram and Fa
My son got married last weekend on the shore of Lake Michigan.I was not there. From Instagram and Facebook posts, it looks like it was a lovely, homespun ceremony perfectly suited to my son and his new bride. It was the simple kind of wedding they would have wanted even if COVID-19 wasn’t a thing.My son hasn’t spoken to me in over a year. Over the last 12-13 years, I’ve probably talked to him a handful of times. That’s not how I ever wanted it.It is perhaps the most painful, heartbreaking circumstance in my life. And if you know anything about my life, that’s saying something. It never gets easier.I message him every month or so. I reach out and say hello, wish him a Happy Birthday, a Merry Christmas, tell him his dogs are getting so big, that the snow in Montana looks lovely, that I hope he likes having chickens, that university is going well. I tell him I love him. I say that I miss him. I apologise, again and again.I don’t hear back. He rarely reads the messages. My heart breaks to the ever-present ‘delivered’ tick-mark. Every now and then his lovely new bride will message me. We’ll chat for a moment or two. I wish her well. I try to use sheer will in my words to convey how much I love my son. How much I wish I could be a part of his life. I don’t know him, really, this grown man who has buried me while I am still alive.I know of him.My son, the one who shows up in my dreams, is the 13 year old boy who was taken away from this addict to go live with his father. The boy that lives in my memory still wears his American Idiot t-shirt, his nails painted black, stands next to a replica of Excalibur hanging on his wall, a Lego battleship atop his dresser. That boy set fires beside the house with his best mate. He sits on the sofa with me binge watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and 24. We sing out loud, we laugh until we fall out in fits. That boy talked to me about everything. Told me he’d always be my best buddy. He cried when I argued with my parents. He visited me in rehab and told me how I’d ruined his life because I was broken. He said I’d broken him.I’ve been clean now 11 years, 7 months and 2 days. I’ve tried almost all of these years to make things better. To make amends. Over and over and over.I will keep trying. How can I not? He recently told me that he’s been in therapy since he left the Marine Corps. He said that his therapist explained that he is the way he is because of me. It never fails to cut to the bone.Maybe it is true. His experience is his experience and he feels that I fucked him up. I cannot dispute his truth. I can only try to take responsibility for my own fucked-up-ness, apolgise, accept that he wants, he needs, space between us.I would have given anything to have seen him marry. I would give anything to hear a hello, to see a ‘hey, mom’ pop up on my phone. Instead, I will wish him all the happiness and joy that he can muster in his life. I will save Facebook photos, send the messages that will remain unread, and I will hold him in my heart. I will wait and I will cry and I will love him. I will hope and I will try not to hope. -- source link