The things you never saw
There are so many things you never saw, never knew, and will probably never know.
You know about how sick you were as an infant and how you were in the hospital for a week. What I didn’t tell you about was staying by your side for the whole week, sleeping in a chair, with an intestinal virus, barely able to walk. I refused to leave your side for more than a moment at time, until they forced me to go downstairs to the ER.
Your first real Halloween I stayed up all night for three nights sewing a dinosaur costume for you because cheap store bought crap wasn’t good enough for one of my children and the expensive costumes were, well, too expensive. And all the years after that, trying to always make everything just so.
The countless sleepless nights, scared and alone, trying to figure out how I was going to pay the bills.
Rolling pennies to get you the cookies you begged me for, because WIC only covered so much.
Swallowing my pride, standing in line with my head down, and asking the government to help feed my children and provide healthcare.
Getting arrested for having written a bad check (and forgetting to pay it) because you needed new shoes and socks so badly.
Giving up my entire social life, because you needed me more than my friends needed me.
At a time when I was getting ready to go back to work, I realized that I’d have to keep my career on hold because you weren’t ready for school and needed to be home-schooled.
The feeling of shame of being a single stay at home mother, without enough child support to get by, and no way to be able to afford to work with the quality of care you required.
The begging, pleading, demanding help from doctors, from anyone, who could help me to understand why you kept beating your own head on the floor (or wall, fireplace, concrete, whatever) daily, only to be turned away time and time again with no real answers.
The tears that came at night, when you would finally give way to exhaustion and fall into a disturbingly deep sleep, as I tried to soothe the bruises and bumps on your forehead.
The dirty looks from the soccer mom set, because I dared to try to integrate my not-so-socially acceptable child into their perfect mini-van world.
The confrontations with various mothers, school administrators, teachers, even bus drivers, because you were such an easy target and so easily bullied.
Working two jobs when you finally made it to school in an effort to dig us out of poverty.
The internal struggle, knowing that we had to leave our home to escape poverty, but terrified of going so far away with no family to speak of.
The relief, the joy, of finally being able to support my family and giving them the home I never had myself as a child.
The devastation when you were hospitalized for the first time, the non-stop tears that night, all while being disappointed by the fact that the one person who was supposed to be supportive of me was never going to be.
Educating myself on all of the disorders you’ve been labeled with, trying like hell to understand what’s going on in your mind and how to help you get better.
The extreme fear (and racing home at ungodly speeds) when the school called and told me you were talking about killing yourself again.
Agonizing with the realization that my career was always going to be just my job, because I have to take so much time off to help you.
Collapsing into tears at the airport after watching you walk away, knowing that I failed. And all of the tears that have come since then, and will continue to come, until the day I know that you are healed and whole.
There are so many things you’ve never seen. I have tried so hard to be strong, to not give up on you, to help you cultivate the bright and wonderful boy that is so deeply hidden within you. I never wanted you to see my frustration, my stress, my fear, but I know that sometimes I’ve let it slip out.
And I know that there are other things you should have never seen, bad relationships, verbal and emotional abuse that I’ve tolerated for myself because I was so busy trying to shield you children from it, always thinking better me than you, so much absolute bullshit that our family should have never had to deal with. I know that I could have chosen better, done better, but there’s no going back and changing it now. All I can hope is that today’s choices will help alleviate yesterday’s.
I can’t help but to feel as if I’ve failed, over and over again, but I still cling to the belief that one day you’ll come through all of this, and the wonderful boy I know will be there. I look forward to that day and to seeing him again. I love you, and while you are now so far away, you are never far from my thoughts.