My first priority with this blog is evangelization, adult catechises, and all my theological thoughts, with a bit of homeschooling progress reports along the way, but today I need to write about motherhood. I am suffering with a broken heart.
For the past 26 years I have been the mother to a beautiful blonde, blue-eyed boy with the smile that would make you just giggle. My husband, his step-dad, called him "buddy" and swore his little face was just a "buddy" face, which was the reason his step-dad insisted that he drop the "step" for. We were alone for seven long years until I met this real-life knight-in-shining-armour, but not without precious memories. We went camping together with our little dachshund, Buttons, and spent Friday night paydays at the mall sharing a large coke and french fries. We traveled together to Houston, TX to visit my dad a few times. My son was great to travel with....he never quit talking, who needed "jolt' cola. He was the social director for the apartment building I moved us into when he was 4 after divorcing his father of nearly 6 years of emotional and verbal abuse.
As a Catholic girl, I never thought divorce was the thing allowed until I attended the Catholic social services and all they could do for me was teach me coping skills and at 26, coping for the rest of your life with a man who didn't care if you lived or died, much less was happy didn't appeal to me any longer. Besides the fact that as we would fight, our son would come down the hall crying that we hated each other. It had to stop, so out we went, my son and I.
As I watched him grow up and struggle with peer pressure, his learning disability, and continued verbal abuse from his biological father, I would put him back together the best I could and make him understand that he was loved with all my heart. It was important to me that he knew he mattered, was respected, liked, and appreciated for all the gifts he did have: a sweet personality, creativity, and that little 'buddy' smile. I look back and can't remember where all the years have gone, two more children showed up on the scene which was expected, but the third one came as a shock for him. He saw his territory shrink a bit smaller with each sister born to us. However, it all smoothed over and he was a very good big brother to them and a highly sought after 'expert' babysitter in the neighborhood.
Well, my little boy blue is a young man of 25 now. Leaving the nest has not been an easy one for him or me, for that matter. Unfortunately, it has gotten ugly, he stayed in the nest way too long and out grew us years ago. He picked at his sisters daily, irritated me, and rarely spent anytime with us. We suggested last year that he begin to think about getting out and on his own. He didn't want to, "couldn't afford it," he would tell us. Now he isn't speaking to me and has accused me of being a bad mother, incapable of understanding him, much less listening to his life's problems. He blew up at me last week, took up with his best friend and hasn't been seen since, however, while we were at Mass on Sunday, he came and took clothes and his mail. I have been walking around all day feeling like I was punched in the stomach, feeling like I have lost my best friend, and that all the memories, tears, laughing, and sharing our lives together are for naught, thrown in the pit, gone forever in vain, debase, and forgotten. Is motherhood supposed to hurt this much?