promises to keep
August 2, 2012 § Leave a comment
At the end of a collection of long days set to a soundtrack of repetitive reprimands directed toward my son, I am tired of my voice speaking in sharp commands tinged with anger. My frustration is palpable, a live current threatening to disrupt my peace. I want to shrug this version of myself for something new – my old self.
I miss blissful ignorance and days of precociously optimistic hope that easier days were waiting just around the corner from tomorrow. My mind preoccupied with failed efforts to understand inexplicable behavior and muddled with equally unsuccessful endeavors to nurture greater independence I am exhausted by our son’s unending tangle of need.
Unable to see our future standing in a place void of clarity, I am retracing my steps to find my way.
Cocooned in an emotional conversation my husband and I spent the time between kissing our children goodnight and dreamless sleep listing our fears and trying to remember when anger became greater than faith; our efforts originating from a place of love rather than frustration, hope rather than doubt.
I promise to remember the young man hurting and struggling to make sense of his world, sometimes angry and sad, lost and overwhelmed is limited only by what we cannot believe. My husband and I must find room for our own doubts and sadness, frustration and anxiety that our emotions do not clutter the space of possibility. Our faith and love, kindness and patience give our son the strength and confidence to face his challenges. These are our promises to keep.
dear sweet boy
December 14, 2011 § Leave a comment
I wish there were a way to gather you close and reassure you that this too shall pass. Unkindness and ignorance draw you deeper into yourself, but the gifts that others cannot yet see will create a life bigger than this moment. You will know love because you give love; you will know success because you do not let others define your boundaries; you will find peace because you know how to look within to find it. Of course, none of this lessens your struggles.
Your peers are not yet mature enough to appreciate your strengths. Your interests are fascinating, but even your father and I struggle to comprehend your theories. Some seem so far-fetched, we sometimes lose sight of your ability to embrace the impossible with an imagination unhindered by the suffocating constraints of can’t. I hope you continue to reach for the stars; when others place roadblocks, build ladders.
Here’s another secret: teachers are people. They begin each school year with a group of new faces and planned course material. You challenge your teachers each day to step outside their own perceptions drawing them into that same place of impossible possibility. Much like peers that do not understand, teachers too are trying to learn as they go. Mistakes are inevitable, patience is mandatory.
You already know your father and I are imperfect. We get frustrated, sad, overwhelmed too. Each night we sit beside you going through the motions of homework mindful of your challenges but insistent that you can do anything. The very hurdles that sometimes make you fall also teach you how to fly.
Your sister is your greatest friend, don’t roll your eyes. In Second Grade two classmates were pushing you and mocking you on the playground. Before I could speak your sister ran ahead and blocked you with her smaller form. She guards you when others are unkind; walks beside you trying to keep up; sometimes she gestures you ahead navigating the road ahead from behind. If you reach out your hand, you will find your sister’s waiting.
Life is not easy. I cannot promise you kindness from strangers, I can only remind you that your worth is not measured by others. Happiness is not something you can be given or I would wipe away all your heartache. Instead, I can promise you a shoulder to cry on and a place to sort your thoughts while you find your way. If you look up, you will see those that love you are always within reach.
Love, Mom
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