Friday, June 24, 2016
Treading water for a while
I have continued my break from the grief prompts. I didn't like the dark places I found myself in as a result of the intensity of every day focus on the topic. I hope to do at least one or two this weekend. I have a lot going on then, so hopefully those activities can help me bounce back from any ill effects.
Monday, June 20, 2016
The color of memory
Red is the color of my true love's ... No. This is not a poem. This is not about romantic love. This is about maternal love. Imperfect though that may be, since mothers are only human beings.
Memory is also imperfect too. But I want to remember. What do I remember?
Red. The color of your eyes in the hundreds of pictures I took of you as a child, since the flash always made your light eyes show up red.
White. The color of your bathing trunks when you learned to swim at the YMCA pool. Your dad and I took turns taking you. I took pictures of your skinny little body as you laughed, getting out of the pool.
Blue. The color of your eyes, at least after you'd been awake for a while. When you would first wake up your eyes were a very washed out gray.
Orange. Purple. Green. All colors you liked when they they were bright and attention getting.
Orange was also the color of basketballs. I can't see one without thinking of you. You loved playing basketball. We even got you a freestanding hoop when we lived in Bedford. How many practices and games did we take you to? How many camps?
Purple was also the color of the the silly silky cylinder pillow that your grandmother got for you. I took a silly picture of you with it on your head.
Brown was the color of your hat when you worked at the steak house, as well as the color of the first hoodie that you wore to death.
Red is the color of anger, right? But I'm only angry when I get frustrated with the situation, with not understanding why you've dropped a wall between us. A wall like a guillotine, chopping my heart in half. Red is the color of blood. The blood that we share. The blood that I feel like I should be bleeding in gallons so that the world can see the pain that otherwise leaves no visible mark on me.
Black is the color of words on a screen, in emails and texts that you do no answer; in cards and letters that I don't know if you've read. The color of a powered down computer monitor or television. How many of those in our lives and relationships?
Black is the color of desolation.
Thursday, June 16, 2016
Out of whole cloth
While I know that my situation with my son, K, is not unique, I've never really KNOWN someone who has gone through an estrangement. An acquaintance once shared her experience around her estranged daughter to try to make me feel less alone in my grief. It did help somewhat. Another friend introduced me to someone who was going through something similar. Again, hearing her story helped a bit as well. However, in neither case did I know these people early on in their situations.
I would love to have a role model on how to best survive my feelings of frustration, guilt, and loss. Perhaps I can invent someone to admire. That someone could be based roughly on me, but perhaps my "better self". Her name is Ellen.
Ellen never shied away from the topic of children. She enjoyed hearing stories about other people's offspring. When asked if she had children, she would briefly mention her daughter; but she would beg off talking about her unless she knew you well. You always knew when Ellen considered you a friend, because she would talk about her daughter with you. She would tell you that she and her daughter stopped speaking years ago, that she missed her daughter every day but that it no longer hurt her deeply to think about her. While she did not understand why her daughter cut all ties with her, Ellen was proud of the adult her daughter had become. And, even if her daughter refused to communicate with her, Ellen knew that her good parenting contributed greatly to the creation of the smart and independent adult her daughter had become. She still hopes that one day her daughter will reach out to her, that they can again be part of each other's lives. Until then, she treasures her memories of the seedling she nurtured and imagines how gloriously it has blossomed.
Ellen is made of stronger stuff than me. Someday, I hope to be like her.
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
The break I just took
One of the reasons that I started writing this blog was because I signed up for 30 day writers workshop called "Writing Your Grief". While I'm not explicitly spelling out the daily prompts, you can probably get an idea of what the course involves. Some of the written explorations can be pretty painful to dredge up when you're hurting. So, after several days of wallowing in feelings that I've been trying to avoid, I went into self-protection mode and stayed away from the whole thing for a few days. I'm not sure if I'll do all of the intervening prompts, but I do plan to try to catch up in the next couple of days.
Wish me luck!
Wish me luck!
Saturday, June 11, 2016
"Be to my sad self, hereafter, kind."
The kindest thing that I can do for myself is to stop replaying situations in my head where I wish I had done things differently. "If only I had (or had not) ..." That is a cruel and pointless game.
Of course, I think that one of the reasons that I constantly replay such scenes in my head is that K won't tell me what I did this time to make him turn his back on me again. The last time this happened, he gave me a lengthy laundry list of my crimes. In that situation, I readied myself for a follow-up encounter where I could give my own version of the "crimes" he held against me. But, since he never gave me the opportunity, I got to replay my presentation over and over in my head.
The kindest thing that I could do for myself would be for me to do for myself what I would have him do for me: To forgive myself for whatever fallabilities which may have contributed to.
Perhaps some day, K will come to realize that it is better to have flawed individuals in our lives who love us, than to not have such individuals in our lives at. I accept him as a flawed individual. I need to be better at accepting myself as a flawed individual. If he cannot do that, his life we be much less rich without me in it; and someday, he will regret his banishment of me.
In the meantime, I need to learn from those sentiments myself. I should not sit around an wallow in self pity and regret. The kindest thing that I can do for myself would be to forgive myself. While I cannot control how K treats me, I can control how I treat myself.l
Allow me to introduce my soulmate
What's that? You think she looks just like me? Well, looks can be deceiving. Greta Griefnurturer has one goal: to remind me of my pain. You see, so long as I relive the pain of losing my son she gets the gift of continued existence. If I could get passed the pain, she would disappear.
Everywhere I go, I can feel her behind me. I try to ignore her, and succeed most of the day. But she is a vigilant bitch. She watches and quietly waits. Her silence is daunting, since I know that she uses the silence to calculate her next attack. She waits for when she knows that it will be most effective. She cannot be happy as long as I seem happy. She is impish in her surprise attacks. Anytime she recognizes something that could make me think of him, she whispers into my ear.
She never sleeps either. When I'm asleep, she keeps her wits about her so that she can sneak into my dreams. Sometimes she replays memories of my son for me. Sometimes she really screws with me by creating fantasy scenarios where all of this estrangement is behind us. Those dreams are not too hard to dismiss, since they are too pleasant to fool me into thinking that they are reality.
Maybe she'll tire of her games with me at some point. I thought I had gotten rid of her last year when K was back in my life for six months. But even then, she would hang around reminding me that he'd probably cut me off again. She's so cynical, but she turned out to be right.
Maybe I should refer to her as my soul-sucking mate?
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Drops of water on a rock, or on your forehead
Over hundreds and thousands of years, little drops of water have carved caverns and rivers, and the Grand Canyon. In the fifteenth century, Hippolytus de Marsiliis infamously described a form of torture where water slowly dripped onto the forehead until the victim went insane, typically referred to as Chinese Water Torture. As the saying goes, "little things mean a lot".
I love music. I have dozens of playlists. Some I have edited to remove certain songs that remind me of him. Like Green Day's "Holiday", since he performed it with some friends at a church function, and it was just spectacular. Others have touchy songs that I can sometimes listen to and not think of him. Like The Black Eyed Peas, "I Gotta Feeling", which brings back the 2010 robotics competiton season, and how his team got to meet the group backstage at the national championships. Then there are songs that had nothing to do with him, like Naked Eyes "There's Always Something There to Remind Me" and Neon Trees "Songs I Can't Listen To". While they are both ostensibly love songs, the overriding theme resonates for me.
He had a very special relationship with my oldest (grumpy) cat, Boose. Any time that cat does something cute, I want to take a picture, or text him.
Then there's turtles and penguins, two of his favorite animals. Every time I see something cute that involves one, I want to buy it and send it to him. But then, the little knife slides up under my rib cage reminding me that how pointless that would be. He would probably throw the package away without even opening it.
There's the geeky teen angst shows we used to watch together that I sometimes stumble across on Netflix. Or cooking shows, which we would also watch together. There are all the photos on my computer that I try not to look at any more. Sometimes it's a food that he really liked, or really disliked. Or games he liked to play. Or power outages. Or stinky feet. Or. Just. Life.
One of the reasons I moved across the country was to get away from so many reminders. But I carry so many with me. So much of him is apart of me, like catchphrases that he would say. His words automatically come out of my mouth, usually in a funny situation. Then, it's not funny any more. There's that tiny little knife under the rib cage again.
Another Chinese torture comes to mind. Death by a thousand cuts.
I love music. I have dozens of playlists. Some I have edited to remove certain songs that remind me of him. Like Green Day's "Holiday", since he performed it with some friends at a church function, and it was just spectacular. Others have touchy songs that I can sometimes listen to and not think of him. Like The Black Eyed Peas, "I Gotta Feeling", which brings back the 2010 robotics competiton season, and how his team got to meet the group backstage at the national championships. Then there are songs that had nothing to do with him, like Naked Eyes "There's Always Something There to Remind Me" and Neon Trees "Songs I Can't Listen To". While they are both ostensibly love songs, the overriding theme resonates for me.
He had a very special relationship with my oldest (grumpy) cat, Boose. Any time that cat does something cute, I want to take a picture, or text him.
Then there's turtles and penguins, two of his favorite animals. Every time I see something cute that involves one, I want to buy it and send it to him. But then, the little knife slides up under my rib cage reminding me that how pointless that would be. He would probably throw the package away without even opening it.
There's the geeky teen angst shows we used to watch together that I sometimes stumble across on Netflix. Or cooking shows, which we would also watch together. There are all the photos on my computer that I try not to look at any more. Sometimes it's a food that he really liked, or really disliked. Or games he liked to play. Or power outages. Or stinky feet. Or. Just. Life.
One of the reasons I moved across the country was to get away from so many reminders. But I carry so many with me. So much of him is apart of me, like catchphrases that he would say. His words automatically come out of my mouth, usually in a funny situation. Then, it's not funny any more. There's that tiny little knife under the rib cage again.
Another Chinese torture comes to mind. Death by a thousand cuts.
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
The desert can be a land of wonders
I never really lived in a forest. Perhaps I lived in an oasis, from time to time. Most of the time, I wandered in a land with little sign of life to the naked eye.
Oh, but when it does rain, how lush and lively the desert becomes. Green things reach for the sky from shallow pools of luxurious mud. Hibernating fish wriggle to the surface to spawn in pools that will soon evaporate. Every rainfall is a glorious celebration of the best of life.
Some of us who dwell in the desert, fool ourselves that life is the oasis or that life is that brief respite that occurs the few days after a much needed rain. We try to hide from the relentlessness of a blistering cloudless sky, the truth that cannot pass our parched and cracking lips, and the desolation clear to all but our seared and nearly blinded eyes. At night, we shiver beside whatever meager fire we can feed using the meager skeletons of dead things gathered along our pointless way.
But we dream of the rain. We dream of the too infrequent days of joy spent at each oasis, come unbidden out of the shimmering journey that is the life we know best. Though we can little afford the loss of moisture, we often wake with the taste of salt on our lips and the hint of moisture on what served as our pillow.
It is folly to live in dreams. It is folly to hope for a rare and fleeting happiness, as in an oasis. It is folly to beg the heavens for rain. For sometimes, rain in the desert can be a violent thing that carries away life, when too suddenly a great volume unexpectedly appears. With the poisonous plants and reptiles, the merciless sun, and other unforgiving elements, the desert wanderer needs to keep their guard up.
Would if I could be a tortoise. Protected from the extremes of heat and cold. Sufficient unto itself. Albeit alone, in its shell.
Oh, but when it does rain, how lush and lively the desert becomes. Green things reach for the sky from shallow pools of luxurious mud. Hibernating fish wriggle to the surface to spawn in pools that will soon evaporate. Every rainfall is a glorious celebration of the best of life.
Some of us who dwell in the desert, fool ourselves that life is the oasis or that life is that brief respite that occurs the few days after a much needed rain. We try to hide from the relentlessness of a blistering cloudless sky, the truth that cannot pass our parched and cracking lips, and the desolation clear to all but our seared and nearly blinded eyes. At night, we shiver beside whatever meager fire we can feed using the meager skeletons of dead things gathered along our pointless way.
But we dream of the rain. We dream of the too infrequent days of joy spent at each oasis, come unbidden out of the shimmering journey that is the life we know best. Though we can little afford the loss of moisture, we often wake with the taste of salt on our lips and the hint of moisture on what served as our pillow.
It is folly to live in dreams. It is folly to hope for a rare and fleeting happiness, as in an oasis. It is folly to beg the heavens for rain. For sometimes, rain in the desert can be a violent thing that carries away life, when too suddenly a great volume unexpectedly appears. With the poisonous plants and reptiles, the merciless sun, and other unforgiving elements, the desert wanderer needs to keep their guard up.
Would if I could be a tortoise. Protected from the extremes of heat and cold. Sufficient unto itself. Albeit alone, in its shell.
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
The best invention of the 21st century
Sometimes I wish that I could advertise a warning over my head in red LED
lights: "Danger! Change the topic!" Wouldn't that be one of the best
inventions of the twenty-first century?
I try not to mention my son when I meet new people. If they ask about children, I keep my information as brief as possible. Those who know me well, and therefore know about the situation with my son, understand how raw it is for me to talk about him.
One of the biggest challenges for me in this regard has been lining up new health care providers for my disability. My initial injury happened over 23 years ago, when I was pregnant with my son. Every provider wants to know how long I have been dealing with the pain of my injuries. I tell them how I fell down an escalator when I was five months pregnant. And since most people think it is the polite thing to do, they will ask about him.
When strangers ask me questions about my son, I put on my fake smile and say that he's out on his own. If they ask more questions I will finally bare the ugly truth that no one wants to hear, "We are not on speaking terms right now." Most people will take the hint and say something like, "That's too bad." The smart ones will see the pained look in my eyes, and they'll move on to another topic. The "nice" ones will offer words of encouragement. They may point out that he is young and that he'll probably grow out of it. On a rare occasion some will try to offer me unsolicited advice!
Unless you have suffered a major rift with someone you love, or unless you know someone well who has, you have no idea what this feels like. I don't want to be rude to you. But if you insist on offering me too many platitudes or, worse yet, presumptive advice, my smile becomes brilliant but tighter while my eyes try to fire lasers through you as I say, "I would prefer not to discuss it further."
Instead of making me feel gut wrenching pain. Instead of you feeling awkward. Or, instead of forcing me to be blatantly rude to you. As soon as you ask about my parental status or about my son in specific, I could sereptitiously tap on a button behind my ear which would light up the sign over my head. The sign would stay on for thirty seconds and then would take another thirty seconds to fade away.
Think of all the awkward conversations such an invention would end. Maybe I should file some patent documents this week, before one of you steals my gold mine of an idea for an invention.
I try not to mention my son when I meet new people. If they ask about children, I keep my information as brief as possible. Those who know me well, and therefore know about the situation with my son, understand how raw it is for me to talk about him.
One of the biggest challenges for me in this regard has been lining up new health care providers for my disability. My initial injury happened over 23 years ago, when I was pregnant with my son. Every provider wants to know how long I have been dealing with the pain of my injuries. I tell them how I fell down an escalator when I was five months pregnant. And since most people think it is the polite thing to do, they will ask about him.
When strangers ask me questions about my son, I put on my fake smile and say that he's out on his own. If they ask more questions I will finally bare the ugly truth that no one wants to hear, "We are not on speaking terms right now." Most people will take the hint and say something like, "That's too bad." The smart ones will see the pained look in my eyes, and they'll move on to another topic. The "nice" ones will offer words of encouragement. They may point out that he is young and that he'll probably grow out of it. On a rare occasion some will try to offer me unsolicited advice!
Unless you have suffered a major rift with someone you love, or unless you know someone well who has, you have no idea what this feels like. I don't want to be rude to you. But if you insist on offering me too many platitudes or, worse yet, presumptive advice, my smile becomes brilliant but tighter while my eyes try to fire lasers through you as I say, "I would prefer not to discuss it further."
Instead of making me feel gut wrenching pain. Instead of you feeling awkward. Or, instead of forcing me to be blatantly rude to you. As soon as you ask about my parental status or about my son in specific, I could sereptitiously tap on a button behind my ear which would light up the sign over my head. The sign would stay on for thirty seconds and then would take another thirty seconds to fade away.
Think of all the awkward conversations such an invention would end. Maybe I should file some patent documents this week, before one of you steals my gold mine of an idea for an invention.
Monday, June 6, 2016
Recreating myself from the outside in
This will be the second time in six years that I have "recreated myself". The first time coincided with the dissolution of my twenty year marriage. I had decided to be a more positive person and to be more social. My new approach to life didn't fit with my highly dysfunctional marriage, so I ended that chapter of my life. I also moved to a home that was a better fit for both my mental and physical needs.
After another rough couple of years, I decided that the best thing I could do for my mental and physical health was to move to move to the Portland, Oregon, area. What did I bring with me versus what did I leave behind? Where will I try to go from here I wonder?
I left behind the small handful of friends that I had made over the last couple of years. A few of them expressed extreme sadness that I was leaving them. These "friends" were rarely available when I wanted to socialize, and I was nearly always the one to suggest getting together. I understand how everyone is "busy", but relationships need to be cultivated.
I had a wonderful house that I had purchased in 2013. I loved everything about it, except that it was in Nashua, NH. A place where it snowed ten feet in 2015. A place with little cultural life. A place where I'd met most of the people who liked the things that I liked, and still felt bereft of meaningful relationships.
I left behind the constant torment of wondering if my son might deign to reach out to me again. He lived less than a mile away, so there was always a chance that he could get over his latest issue with me and swing by or ask to meet up again, like he did last September after fifteen months of silence. After seven months of improved relations, he disappeared on me again. I am glad to leave constant torment behind.
But did I? While I don't have this constant hope that he could simply "show up" at my door, I do have a small voice in the back of my head that says "Maybe he'll text you today. Maybe he'll call you out of the blue today like he did in September." Then reason takes over and shuts that voice down.
I pared down most of my belongings. I did bring my three feline roommates with me. I also brought the majority of my crafting tools with me. Crafting is one of the things that relaxes me and centers me when other things in my life aren't going so well.
I am slowly getting used to my new apartment. It's too expensive and too far away from Portland proper to be a long term home. However, it's turning out to be an acceptable base of operations as I get to know the area.
I've made a couple of friends. And, I'm signing up for activities that will hopefully introduce me to more like-minded people. I haven't seen much of the friend who I hoped to see more of when I moved here. But, that's fine. I wasn't going to rely on that relationship for much of my social support. It's not practical to rely on one person. Plus, there are complicated reasons (on both sides) that keep me from relying on that person. She was quite a help when it came to the initial transition since she stayed at my apartment with my kitties for a few days until I could come out and join them. I will be forever grateful for that.
So, who am I now?
When I look back on my adult life, I barely remember being a married person. When I fill out a form that asks if I'm single, married, divorced, or widowed, I usually check "single". Why would it matter how I got that way?
Now there are days when I can barely remember being a parent. I think this is my mind's way of protecting itself from the pain of the past. Seeing my friends' posts on Facebook about their children usually brings some of the pain to the surface. Hearing children's voices or seeing evidence of children's lives also brings some of the pain to the surface. It's making me seriously consider looking into living in an adults-only community the first year I would qualify by age (usually at 55).
The past contributed to who I am now. However, I get to decide who I am now. I get to decide how to react to the challenges that have occurred in my life. I am trying to construct a new life based on things that have made me happy in the past. I'm even considering dating, even though I really don't feel the need to have someone share my life. Not because "my life" is a work in progress, but because I want it to be "MY" life. After 20 years in a dysfunctional marriage, and feeling as if all the effort I put into parenting did ME little good in the long run, I feel entitled to a life of my own where my happiness and needs come first.
While it sounds bitter, a friend of mine in NH gave me a notebook with a great quote on the cover that sums up my feelings about my old life: "Hell is other people." It's not 100% accurate though. Hell CAN BE other people, especially when you give others too much dominion over your life, especially if they give very little back to you.
I will be more cautious with my heart and my time. I am willing to give new people a chance so that we can connect and support each others lives. The energy has to flow both ways. Between my health issues and the weight of my past, I can no longer afford to invest my energy in relationships that are not balanced.
What does this say about who I am? I'm not sure yet. I really do want to find out who I can become now. Who will I create now?
After another rough couple of years, I decided that the best thing I could do for my mental and physical health was to move to move to the Portland, Oregon, area. What did I bring with me versus what did I leave behind? Where will I try to go from here I wonder?
I left behind the small handful of friends that I had made over the last couple of years. A few of them expressed extreme sadness that I was leaving them. These "friends" were rarely available when I wanted to socialize, and I was nearly always the one to suggest getting together. I understand how everyone is "busy", but relationships need to be cultivated.
I had a wonderful house that I had purchased in 2013. I loved everything about it, except that it was in Nashua, NH. A place where it snowed ten feet in 2015. A place with little cultural life. A place where I'd met most of the people who liked the things that I liked, and still felt bereft of meaningful relationships.
I left behind the constant torment of wondering if my son might deign to reach out to me again. He lived less than a mile away, so there was always a chance that he could get over his latest issue with me and swing by or ask to meet up again, like he did last September after fifteen months of silence. After seven months of improved relations, he disappeared on me again. I am glad to leave constant torment behind.
But did I? While I don't have this constant hope that he could simply "show up" at my door, I do have a small voice in the back of my head that says "Maybe he'll text you today. Maybe he'll call you out of the blue today like he did in September." Then reason takes over and shuts that voice down.
I pared down most of my belongings. I did bring my three feline roommates with me. I also brought the majority of my crafting tools with me. Crafting is one of the things that relaxes me and centers me when other things in my life aren't going so well.
I am slowly getting used to my new apartment. It's too expensive and too far away from Portland proper to be a long term home. However, it's turning out to be an acceptable base of operations as I get to know the area.
I've made a couple of friends. And, I'm signing up for activities that will hopefully introduce me to more like-minded people. I haven't seen much of the friend who I hoped to see more of when I moved here. But, that's fine. I wasn't going to rely on that relationship for much of my social support. It's not practical to rely on one person. Plus, there are complicated reasons (on both sides) that keep me from relying on that person. She was quite a help when it came to the initial transition since she stayed at my apartment with my kitties for a few days until I could come out and join them. I will be forever grateful for that.
So, who am I now?
When I look back on my adult life, I barely remember being a married person. When I fill out a form that asks if I'm single, married, divorced, or widowed, I usually check "single". Why would it matter how I got that way?
Now there are days when I can barely remember being a parent. I think this is my mind's way of protecting itself from the pain of the past. Seeing my friends' posts on Facebook about their children usually brings some of the pain to the surface. Hearing children's voices or seeing evidence of children's lives also brings some of the pain to the surface. It's making me seriously consider looking into living in an adults-only community the first year I would qualify by age (usually at 55).
The past contributed to who I am now. However, I get to decide who I am now. I get to decide how to react to the challenges that have occurred in my life. I am trying to construct a new life based on things that have made me happy in the past. I'm even considering dating, even though I really don't feel the need to have someone share my life. Not because "my life" is a work in progress, but because I want it to be "MY" life. After 20 years in a dysfunctional marriage, and feeling as if all the effort I put into parenting did ME little good in the long run, I feel entitled to a life of my own where my happiness and needs come first.
While it sounds bitter, a friend of mine in NH gave me a notebook with a great quote on the cover that sums up my feelings about my old life: "Hell is other people." It's not 100% accurate though. Hell CAN BE other people, especially when you give others too much dominion over your life, especially if they give very little back to you.
I will be more cautious with my heart and my time. I am willing to give new people a chance so that we can connect and support each others lives. The energy has to flow both ways. Between my health issues and the weight of my past, I can no longer afford to invest my energy in relationships that are not balanced.
What does this say about who I am? I'm not sure yet. I really do want to find out who I can become now. Who will I create now?
Sunday, June 5, 2016
How did I get here?
I am 53 years, so this could be a long story. Let's see if I can summarize the highlights, while focusing on the most recent events.
Grew up in the MidAtlantic region. Only child of a hardworking single mother. We didn't have the best relationship. Unfortunately, I think that planted the seeds for the horrible relationship that I have with my own son. My father was barely present in my life. He had his reasons, but his absence left me feeling unloved and unimportant.
I went to college at the University of Maryland, where I made some very dear lifelong friends. After going away to graduate school, I returned to Maryland where I met and married my husband. One of the attractions for me was that his family readily adopted me as one of their own. His family even stood beside me when I insisted that he get counseling for his anger management issues. While he never touch me, he did punch through a few walls which scared me. The counseling worked for quite a while.
When I became pregnant with my son, I decided to cut ties with my seemingly ambivalent father. I wrote him a letter explaining my feelings and asking that he not try to contact me again. I did not want my child to feel the ambivalence from his grandfather that I felt from my father. When my son was in high school, I decided to give my father another chance. People change and I didn't want to deprive my son or myself of the opportunity to get to know my father. I figured that my son was old enough to understand the complexities of the relationship if my father wanted to be a part of our lives. It turned out that my father hadn't really changed. He was happy to be in contact again but he made no effort to visit or to invite us to go see him.
Sadly, my husband's brooding and angry eruptions resurfaced when our son became a teenager. I had also become withdrawn and depressed since I didn't have much of a social support system after our move to NH when our son was in second grade. As I started to build a social life for myself, my husband and I drifted further apart. We disagreed on many things, especially on how to handle our teenage son's passive aggressive rebellious behavior. The two of them barely spoke. The most peaceful time between the two of them was whenever they would play video games together.
In 2008, my husband lost his job as an architect. Without any discussion, he then decided to become a nurse. I had to take on a lot more financial responsibility. My husband went through a six week training to become an LNA (licensed nursing assistant). The plan was to work as an LNA full time until he started nursing school, and then to work part time while he was in school. Unfortunately, the work wasn't as regular in coming as he had believed it would be. On top of that, he was barely contributing around the house even when he was home for entire days. He said that he was tired all the time. I assumed that the fatigue was due to depression.
He played video games all the time, or worked on his other hobby: restoring Japanese swords. He had around a dozen. Throughout our marriage he practiced a number of Japanese marital arts. He was advanced enough to teach regular classes at a local YMCA.
In 2009, I took a trip to a meditation retreat for a week. I knew that I needed to deal with my own internal issues if I was going to fairly deal with my husband and son during this rough period in our lives. The retreat was great for me. I regained the optimism and self-direction that had been long missing from my life.
Unfortunately, my husband was dealing with his own unspoken demons. He assumed that I was cheating on him while I was gone. He had gotten a lawyer and was starting divorce proceedings by the time I returned. Instead of letting unspoken issues be the end of our marriage, I insisted that we go to couple's counseling. So long as we went to counseling, I thought we might have a chance to save our marriage. He agreed and things seemed better for a while. Eventually, my husband saw counseling as nothing but criticism of his behavior by both myself and the counselor. I thought that I was trying to change and that he really wasn't trying to make our marriage work. When he said that he wanted to stop going, I agreed. I knew that our marriage was over, but I decided to stick it out until he finished nursing school.
Things degraded over the next six months. Without getting into the gory details, we ultimately agreed to get a divorce. Things got pretty ugly between us, since he was still living in our house for the first few months. I approached my son to ask whether he wanted to live with me, his father, or if he wanted to split his time. He responded that it should be pretty obvious that he would prefer to live with me, since his relationship with his father was virtually non-existent. It really had deteriorated much further over that last year. My relationship with my son had also degraded with the stressors of the previous year. I tried to get him to talk to me about the things that were going on with our family and other things in his life. Unfortunately, he wasn't big into talking about his feelings. He also seemed to brood and hold grudges without articulating his issues with the person who offended him. He even broke up with his girlfriend, of a year, without telling her why he no longer wanted to be with her.
Eventually, my husband moved out. The police eventually became involved, partly because my husband kept showing up at the house causing scenes. He would verbally abuse my son when my son wouldn't let him in, since I wasn't there and I didn't want the man in the house without me being there. I was afraid of what he might do since he was angry all the time and venomous with his words. When my husband violated the stalking protection order I put in place, he eventually went to jail. At this point, my mother-in-law washed her hands of me. This ultimately led to my estrangement from all of my husband's family since no one wanted to upset her by communicating with me. The hardest part of that was the loss of the friendship of my sister-in-law. We had been close for nearly 20 years.
About a year after the divorce, my husband's family told my son that my ex-husband had been diagnosed with ALS, a fatal illness. It turned out that much of his frightening and erratic behavior over the last couple of years was probably attributable to the onset of the illness. Since my ex because suicidal after the diagnosis, and the symptoms were starting to make it difficult for him to care for himself, my ex ended up hospitalized for the remainder of his life. Over the next two years, my son saw his father at holiday gatherings at my sister-in-law's house. His father barely spoke to anyone, but mostly watched television and smiled when people spoke to him.
My son started attending college in the fall of 2011. He was working part-time. Early in his second year of school, he started struggling with his coursework. He dropped out mid-semester. Around the same time, he got a new girlfriend. He decided to go back to school at the community college in the spring of 2013. Not long after, he moved in with his girlfriend. He and I had struggled as housemates over the last two years. He didn't want to help out around the house, and I didn't want someone living in my house as if it were a hotel. We both figured that we might get along better if we weren't living together.
When his father passed away that April, my son seemed to take it well enough. He attended the funeral and memorial service. I was not invited, which was fine with me since the family was estranged from me. I felt like I lost my husband years before the divorce.
Since I still had a life insurance policy on my ex, we were able to pay off my son's student loans. We also bought him a reliable car with a small car payment so that he could build up a credit history. I was still living in the four story townhouse that I had shared with my ex and my son. I had some physical disabilities that had worsened over the last few years, so I decided to sell the house and move into a single story home that made more sense for me. I indulged myself a bit by buying a newly constructed house with a few frills that would make my life a lot easier.
Over the next year, my son and I seemed to be getting along better for the most part. We had a few bumps that I thought we'd recovered from relatively well. I'd heard from his girlfriend that he was having a rough time with the upcoming anniversary of his father's death. Over the coming months, he changed his Facebook cover page to a photo of his father's grave. Then he proclaimed how much he missed his father when everyone was doing the ice bucket challenge for ALS. I suspect that he was kicking himself for not trying to have a better relationship with his father when he was still alive. He wouldn't talk about it to her or me.
Then, he and his girlfriend started having issues. She and I were quite friendly. When she cheated on him, he didn't want to tell me about it. He asked her to do it. When she told me, I was definitely torn. I understood why she had done it, but I knew that I should consider my son's feelings first. Since he seemed like he wanted to save the relationship, I wanted to support his decision. When he asked me what I thought about the situation, I suggested that they go to counseling to figure out how they got to where they were, and how maybe his behavior may have contributed to her ultimately cheating on him.
It was the wrong thing to say for so many reasons. On the other hand, I think that anything I could have said probably would have been the wrong thing. He blew up at me saying that I always took other people's side against him. I was astounded. I didn't know where this generalization was coming from. After a few more back and forths over text (which is the only way he ever really wanted to talk to me) he stopped speaking to me for a couple of days. I decided that I didn't want to communicate with him electronically. I wanted to have a real talk about where some of the things he said were coming from. He eventually apologized for some of the things he said, and I foolishly thought that things were back on track.
A few months later, his girlfriend broke up with him, saying that they weren't good for each other any more and that she need to take care of herself. My son was devastated. He had flunked most of his spring coursework too. I tried to be supportive. I said as little as possible regarding her, other than to encourage him to take care of himself. He arranged to get an apartment on his own, and he even talked about possibly moving to Seattle to start over someplace without all the negative memories (not just from the recent break-up but also all the nastiness of the last few years). The idea made me sad, but I quickly supported the idea.
A few weeks later, his ex started hanging out with him "as friends". The more time she spent with him, the more hopeful he got that they would get back together. I dropped a few comments about being cautious and keeping his distance. I was concerned that she really was just leaning on him for support and that she wasn't mentally ready to be back in a relationship with anyone. He wanted to believe that things were getting back on track. She eventually checked herself into a mental health facility for a few days. This freaked my son out. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't focus on work. He ended up at the emergency room with a panic attack.
When his ex resurfaced, my fears played out. She told my son that she had been unfairly leaning on him and that they shouldn't see each other any more, not even as friends. He went home that night and drank himself into a stupor. He also got his hands on some pills. When his roommate came home, he was unresponsive on the floor. They got him to the hospital and pumped his stomache. The next day, he asked to be checked into a mental health facility. He had his ex inform me about the situation. I went to the hospital to try to see him before he went to the facility. He was angry that I had showed up since he texted me not to come when I was on my way there. Once I made sure that the hospital had found a place for him, I left. He was very angry with me (and the rest of the world too, I suspect).
When he got back from his lock-in, we agreed to meet to discuss any outstanding issues between us. When he finally showed up to meet with me, he asked that I let him speak his peace without trying to counter anything he said. I agreed on the principal that we could talk again in a few days so that he could listen to my reaction to what he said. He agreed. His primary issue with me still seemed to be that I had taken his ex's side when she had cheated on him. He also complained that I expected him to do things for me in exchange for me doing things for him (an economy borne out of years of dysfunction between the two of us - it was the only way I could get him to contribute around the house or to acknowledge any sort of appreciation for any "favor" he asked of me). He said that he didn't want to rely on me for anything and that I shouldn't expect anything of him. He said that he'd only put up with it so that I would pay for his college, and that his friends encouraged him to just get student loans and wash his hands of me. I did counter that I would pay for school regardless of our relationship, so long as he could civilly approach me when the bills were due. He seemed to agree to that. When he left, I hugged him. I asked him when we could could together again so that I could give my reaction. He said to give him a few days. I agreed.
At the time, he still had a key to my house. I had a funny feeling that he would swing by to take advantage of my laundry room when I wasn't home. Considering his statement about not wanting to rely on each other for anything, I wanted to make sure that he understood what that really meant. In retrospect, I suppose that I could have continued to let him to take advantage of me and just look the other way for such things. But I was a bit angry myself. So, I deactivated his security code in my alarm system and went to work. Sure enough, he called me in a panic that afternoon when his security code wouldn't deactivate the alarm. I told him that I wasn't expecting him to come and go at my house as he pleased any more, especially without warning, if we weren't supposed to be relying on each other for anything. I gave him a code to deactivate the alarm. I later texted him asking him to return his key to my house. He left it by the backdoor as I suggested.
In spite of texts, emails, cards, and letters. I did not hear from my son for 15 months. I had already decided to move away from the area. I had said as much to him in several letters I sent to him in the summer of 2015. One of the things I needed to get away from was the constant hope that he would show up at my house, or that I would see him somewhere in public. I had heard from my former sister-in-law a couple of times about how she was supporting him since I was not. He had decided not to go back to school, which she blamed me for. She bought into his perception of our issues and didn't want to hear my perceptions at all.
He contacted me in the fall of 2015 asking if we could meet to catch up. I agreed. We had a lovely meal and chat. I suggested that we not talk about the past between us, but that we look forward. (This would eventually come back to bite me in the butt, I think.) He agreed that we could get together again in a few weeks. I wasn't sure if he meant it. But, he did end up coming over to my house to hang out for a bit, and to see my oldest cat who he adores. We got together again for dinner so that I could meet his new girlfriend, who he had been with for about a year. I didn't tell him, but I knew about his job changes and the new girlfriend, since I would periodically look at his Facebook and LinkedIn profiles using other people's phones (folks that were "friends" with us both).
Things seemed to be going fine. We would randomly text each other silly things or pictures of our pets (he has a dog and a cat). We got together about once a month for a meal or he would come over to claim some item I was giving up before I moved. Then, about a month before my move Facebook threw a picture on my timeline from a trip that he and I took when he was in high school. It had not been a good trip for us at all. It was hard to see the picture, but I was hopeful that we were on the right path to a better relationship. I texted him about the picture, saying that it was tough to see since it brought back some tough memories. I admitted that I had made mistakes in the past and that I hoped that we had both learned from our past mistakes, and that I hoped that he could now feel how much I loved him and cared about him. I then apologized an said that we could go back to keeping things light.
He never texted me back. He didn't answer my phone calls. I decided to wait for him at his apartment one evening when he got home from work. He looked at me and then pointed at his laptop, saying that he was busy and that he had work to do. I asked that he tell me why he wasn't speaking to me again. He said that he didn't want to talk about it, and walked passed me and into his building. I moved out of the area a few weeks later.
Not a day goes by that I don't think about my son. I constantly rehash everything that went on between us. I try to think if there is anything that I could do to get him to reengage with me. I've even considered reaching out to my sister-in-law again, thought I know that would probably be pointless and would just end up hurting my feelings even more, since I still have a hard time stomaching her turning her back on me too.
So, here I am, trying to build a new life for myself. Three thousand miles away from the son who blames me for things that he is unwilling to talk to me about, the son who cannot seem to remember any of the good times, or any of the myriad ways that I tried to care for him, most of which I truly did not ask for acknowledgement or recompense for. I know that he may beat himself up for not trying harder with me once I am gone, like he did with his father. Though part of me suspects that he won't. His father barely tried to have a relationship with him once the teen rebellion started. While I know that I made mistakes, I kept trying and trying to build bridges with my son. As a result, he may memorialize me for my mistakes instead of giving me credit for trying.
Grew up in the MidAtlantic region. Only child of a hardworking single mother. We didn't have the best relationship. Unfortunately, I think that planted the seeds for the horrible relationship that I have with my own son. My father was barely present in my life. He had his reasons, but his absence left me feeling unloved and unimportant.
I went to college at the University of Maryland, where I made some very dear lifelong friends. After going away to graduate school, I returned to Maryland where I met and married my husband. One of the attractions for me was that his family readily adopted me as one of their own. His family even stood beside me when I insisted that he get counseling for his anger management issues. While he never touch me, he did punch through a few walls which scared me. The counseling worked for quite a while.
When I became pregnant with my son, I decided to cut ties with my seemingly ambivalent father. I wrote him a letter explaining my feelings and asking that he not try to contact me again. I did not want my child to feel the ambivalence from his grandfather that I felt from my father. When my son was in high school, I decided to give my father another chance. People change and I didn't want to deprive my son or myself of the opportunity to get to know my father. I figured that my son was old enough to understand the complexities of the relationship if my father wanted to be a part of our lives. It turned out that my father hadn't really changed. He was happy to be in contact again but he made no effort to visit or to invite us to go see him.
Sadly, my husband's brooding and angry eruptions resurfaced when our son became a teenager. I had also become withdrawn and depressed since I didn't have much of a social support system after our move to NH when our son was in second grade. As I started to build a social life for myself, my husband and I drifted further apart. We disagreed on many things, especially on how to handle our teenage son's passive aggressive rebellious behavior. The two of them barely spoke. The most peaceful time between the two of them was whenever they would play video games together.
In 2008, my husband lost his job as an architect. Without any discussion, he then decided to become a nurse. I had to take on a lot more financial responsibility. My husband went through a six week training to become an LNA (licensed nursing assistant). The plan was to work as an LNA full time until he started nursing school, and then to work part time while he was in school. Unfortunately, the work wasn't as regular in coming as he had believed it would be. On top of that, he was barely contributing around the house even when he was home for entire days. He said that he was tired all the time. I assumed that the fatigue was due to depression.
He played video games all the time, or worked on his other hobby: restoring Japanese swords. He had around a dozen. Throughout our marriage he practiced a number of Japanese marital arts. He was advanced enough to teach regular classes at a local YMCA.
In 2009, I took a trip to a meditation retreat for a week. I knew that I needed to deal with my own internal issues if I was going to fairly deal with my husband and son during this rough period in our lives. The retreat was great for me. I regained the optimism and self-direction that had been long missing from my life.
Unfortunately, my husband was dealing with his own unspoken demons. He assumed that I was cheating on him while I was gone. He had gotten a lawyer and was starting divorce proceedings by the time I returned. Instead of letting unspoken issues be the end of our marriage, I insisted that we go to couple's counseling. So long as we went to counseling, I thought we might have a chance to save our marriage. He agreed and things seemed better for a while. Eventually, my husband saw counseling as nothing but criticism of his behavior by both myself and the counselor. I thought that I was trying to change and that he really wasn't trying to make our marriage work. When he said that he wanted to stop going, I agreed. I knew that our marriage was over, but I decided to stick it out until he finished nursing school.
Things degraded over the next six months. Without getting into the gory details, we ultimately agreed to get a divorce. Things got pretty ugly between us, since he was still living in our house for the first few months. I approached my son to ask whether he wanted to live with me, his father, or if he wanted to split his time. He responded that it should be pretty obvious that he would prefer to live with me, since his relationship with his father was virtually non-existent. It really had deteriorated much further over that last year. My relationship with my son had also degraded with the stressors of the previous year. I tried to get him to talk to me about the things that were going on with our family and other things in his life. Unfortunately, he wasn't big into talking about his feelings. He also seemed to brood and hold grudges without articulating his issues with the person who offended him. He even broke up with his girlfriend, of a year, without telling her why he no longer wanted to be with her.
Eventually, my husband moved out. The police eventually became involved, partly because my husband kept showing up at the house causing scenes. He would verbally abuse my son when my son wouldn't let him in, since I wasn't there and I didn't want the man in the house without me being there. I was afraid of what he might do since he was angry all the time and venomous with his words. When my husband violated the stalking protection order I put in place, he eventually went to jail. At this point, my mother-in-law washed her hands of me. This ultimately led to my estrangement from all of my husband's family since no one wanted to upset her by communicating with me. The hardest part of that was the loss of the friendship of my sister-in-law. We had been close for nearly 20 years.
About a year after the divorce, my husband's family told my son that my ex-husband had been diagnosed with ALS, a fatal illness. It turned out that much of his frightening and erratic behavior over the last couple of years was probably attributable to the onset of the illness. Since my ex because suicidal after the diagnosis, and the symptoms were starting to make it difficult for him to care for himself, my ex ended up hospitalized for the remainder of his life. Over the next two years, my son saw his father at holiday gatherings at my sister-in-law's house. His father barely spoke to anyone, but mostly watched television and smiled when people spoke to him.
My son started attending college in the fall of 2011. He was working part-time. Early in his second year of school, he started struggling with his coursework. He dropped out mid-semester. Around the same time, he got a new girlfriend. He decided to go back to school at the community college in the spring of 2013. Not long after, he moved in with his girlfriend. He and I had struggled as housemates over the last two years. He didn't want to help out around the house, and I didn't want someone living in my house as if it were a hotel. We both figured that we might get along better if we weren't living together.
When his father passed away that April, my son seemed to take it well enough. He attended the funeral and memorial service. I was not invited, which was fine with me since the family was estranged from me. I felt like I lost my husband years before the divorce.
Since I still had a life insurance policy on my ex, we were able to pay off my son's student loans. We also bought him a reliable car with a small car payment so that he could build up a credit history. I was still living in the four story townhouse that I had shared with my ex and my son. I had some physical disabilities that had worsened over the last few years, so I decided to sell the house and move into a single story home that made more sense for me. I indulged myself a bit by buying a newly constructed house with a few frills that would make my life a lot easier.
Over the next year, my son and I seemed to be getting along better for the most part. We had a few bumps that I thought we'd recovered from relatively well. I'd heard from his girlfriend that he was having a rough time with the upcoming anniversary of his father's death. Over the coming months, he changed his Facebook cover page to a photo of his father's grave. Then he proclaimed how much he missed his father when everyone was doing the ice bucket challenge for ALS. I suspect that he was kicking himself for not trying to have a better relationship with his father when he was still alive. He wouldn't talk about it to her or me.
Then, he and his girlfriend started having issues. She and I were quite friendly. When she cheated on him, he didn't want to tell me about it. He asked her to do it. When she told me, I was definitely torn. I understood why she had done it, but I knew that I should consider my son's feelings first. Since he seemed like he wanted to save the relationship, I wanted to support his decision. When he asked me what I thought about the situation, I suggested that they go to counseling to figure out how they got to where they were, and how maybe his behavior may have contributed to her ultimately cheating on him.
It was the wrong thing to say for so many reasons. On the other hand, I think that anything I could have said probably would have been the wrong thing. He blew up at me saying that I always took other people's side against him. I was astounded. I didn't know where this generalization was coming from. After a few more back and forths over text (which is the only way he ever really wanted to talk to me) he stopped speaking to me for a couple of days. I decided that I didn't want to communicate with him electronically. I wanted to have a real talk about where some of the things he said were coming from. He eventually apologized for some of the things he said, and I foolishly thought that things were back on track.
A few months later, his girlfriend broke up with him, saying that they weren't good for each other any more and that she need to take care of herself. My son was devastated. He had flunked most of his spring coursework too. I tried to be supportive. I said as little as possible regarding her, other than to encourage him to take care of himself. He arranged to get an apartment on his own, and he even talked about possibly moving to Seattle to start over someplace without all the negative memories (not just from the recent break-up but also all the nastiness of the last few years). The idea made me sad, but I quickly supported the idea.
A few weeks later, his ex started hanging out with him "as friends". The more time she spent with him, the more hopeful he got that they would get back together. I dropped a few comments about being cautious and keeping his distance. I was concerned that she really was just leaning on him for support and that she wasn't mentally ready to be back in a relationship with anyone. He wanted to believe that things were getting back on track. She eventually checked herself into a mental health facility for a few days. This freaked my son out. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't focus on work. He ended up at the emergency room with a panic attack.
When his ex resurfaced, my fears played out. She told my son that she had been unfairly leaning on him and that they shouldn't see each other any more, not even as friends. He went home that night and drank himself into a stupor. He also got his hands on some pills. When his roommate came home, he was unresponsive on the floor. They got him to the hospital and pumped his stomache. The next day, he asked to be checked into a mental health facility. He had his ex inform me about the situation. I went to the hospital to try to see him before he went to the facility. He was angry that I had showed up since he texted me not to come when I was on my way there. Once I made sure that the hospital had found a place for him, I left. He was very angry with me (and the rest of the world too, I suspect).
When he got back from his lock-in, we agreed to meet to discuss any outstanding issues between us. When he finally showed up to meet with me, he asked that I let him speak his peace without trying to counter anything he said. I agreed on the principal that we could talk again in a few days so that he could listen to my reaction to what he said. He agreed. His primary issue with me still seemed to be that I had taken his ex's side when she had cheated on him. He also complained that I expected him to do things for me in exchange for me doing things for him (an economy borne out of years of dysfunction between the two of us - it was the only way I could get him to contribute around the house or to acknowledge any sort of appreciation for any "favor" he asked of me). He said that he didn't want to rely on me for anything and that I shouldn't expect anything of him. He said that he'd only put up with it so that I would pay for his college, and that his friends encouraged him to just get student loans and wash his hands of me. I did counter that I would pay for school regardless of our relationship, so long as he could civilly approach me when the bills were due. He seemed to agree to that. When he left, I hugged him. I asked him when we could could together again so that I could give my reaction. He said to give him a few days. I agreed.
At the time, he still had a key to my house. I had a funny feeling that he would swing by to take advantage of my laundry room when I wasn't home. Considering his statement about not wanting to rely on each other for anything, I wanted to make sure that he understood what that really meant. In retrospect, I suppose that I could have continued to let him to take advantage of me and just look the other way for such things. But I was a bit angry myself. So, I deactivated his security code in my alarm system and went to work. Sure enough, he called me in a panic that afternoon when his security code wouldn't deactivate the alarm. I told him that I wasn't expecting him to come and go at my house as he pleased any more, especially without warning, if we weren't supposed to be relying on each other for anything. I gave him a code to deactivate the alarm. I later texted him asking him to return his key to my house. He left it by the backdoor as I suggested.
In spite of texts, emails, cards, and letters. I did not hear from my son for 15 months. I had already decided to move away from the area. I had said as much to him in several letters I sent to him in the summer of 2015. One of the things I needed to get away from was the constant hope that he would show up at my house, or that I would see him somewhere in public. I had heard from my former sister-in-law a couple of times about how she was supporting him since I was not. He had decided not to go back to school, which she blamed me for. She bought into his perception of our issues and didn't want to hear my perceptions at all.
He contacted me in the fall of 2015 asking if we could meet to catch up. I agreed. We had a lovely meal and chat. I suggested that we not talk about the past between us, but that we look forward. (This would eventually come back to bite me in the butt, I think.) He agreed that we could get together again in a few weeks. I wasn't sure if he meant it. But, he did end up coming over to my house to hang out for a bit, and to see my oldest cat who he adores. We got together again for dinner so that I could meet his new girlfriend, who he had been with for about a year. I didn't tell him, but I knew about his job changes and the new girlfriend, since I would periodically look at his Facebook and LinkedIn profiles using other people's phones (folks that were "friends" with us both).
Things seemed to be going fine. We would randomly text each other silly things or pictures of our pets (he has a dog and a cat). We got together about once a month for a meal or he would come over to claim some item I was giving up before I moved. Then, about a month before my move Facebook threw a picture on my timeline from a trip that he and I took when he was in high school. It had not been a good trip for us at all. It was hard to see the picture, but I was hopeful that we were on the right path to a better relationship. I texted him about the picture, saying that it was tough to see since it brought back some tough memories. I admitted that I had made mistakes in the past and that I hoped that we had both learned from our past mistakes, and that I hoped that he could now feel how much I loved him and cared about him. I then apologized an said that we could go back to keeping things light.
He never texted me back. He didn't answer my phone calls. I decided to wait for him at his apartment one evening when he got home from work. He looked at me and then pointed at his laptop, saying that he was busy and that he had work to do. I asked that he tell me why he wasn't speaking to me again. He said that he didn't want to talk about it, and walked passed me and into his building. I moved out of the area a few weeks later.
Not a day goes by that I don't think about my son. I constantly rehash everything that went on between us. I try to think if there is anything that I could do to get him to reengage with me. I've even considered reaching out to my sister-in-law again, thought I know that would probably be pointless and would just end up hurting my feelings even more, since I still have a hard time stomaching her turning her back on me too.
So, here I am, trying to build a new life for myself. Three thousand miles away from the son who blames me for things that he is unwilling to talk to me about, the son who cannot seem to remember any of the good times, or any of the myriad ways that I tried to care for him, most of which I truly did not ask for acknowledgement or recompense for. I know that he may beat himself up for not trying harder with me once I am gone, like he did with his father. Though part of me suspects that he won't. His father barely tried to have a relationship with him once the teen rebellion started. While I know that I made mistakes, I kept trying and trying to build bridges with my son. As a result, he may memorialize me for my mistakes instead of giving me credit for trying.
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