If only

I know my son.

*

Or is it now that he has reached a milestone that I no longer do?

Is he looking back and reflecting on his life and wondering why?

I can't let you fly that close.

*

Are you just busy?

I remember that time in my life.

Where have you 'gone.'

*

But then you slipped when I texted :

'Your silence is killing me, Ross.'

I was filled with dread by your response.

*

Am I now for him a memory?

A fleeting glimpse of trauma?

No, that undermines the impact.

Fleeting?

All engulfing.

*

I am tortured by longing.

Detached; my night terrors are back.

*

Perhaps it would be enough to see you from afar.

Watching, unbeknown to you.

*

I fought my desperate temptation for contact.

Acknowledging you needed time to contemplate.

Acknowledging you needed time for ’space.’

*

Six weeks later, I felt the panic of risk when I texted :

'Ok, beautiful. Forget all of the other stuff. Texting is part of our fast and detached lives. Time together talking and being listened to can always help - with your struggles, peace and well-being. I will always be here for you.'

I could barely breathe.

Not knowing if my text would break through his armour or be ignored.

Then, his immediate response!

'Thank you for understanding, Pauline. Can I visit tomorrow at 1 p.m. for half an hour or so?'

Shaking as I cried, I responded:

'Sounds like a plan!'

*

He arrived, and I blinked away droplets from my eyes.

I was determined to be strong for my son.

He stood before me and smiled, kissing me atop my head.

He is so tall now!

Tortured by longing? Now released.

*

We sat and looked into each other's eyes.

After a few moments of uncomfortable pleasantries, he revealed the source of his struggles.

A symptom complex, both interwoven and distinct.

He stayed for an evening meal.

*

We organised his birthday celebration! A must: indulgent cupcakes!

*

I reflected on his text the previous evening :

Thank you for understanding, Pauline. Can I visit tomorrow at 1 p.m. for half an hour or so?'

An inbuilt protective mechanism that I understood all too clearly. An escape route. Set a time constraint. Compartmentalise.

*

As I listened to my son?

I remembered it takes time to heal from wounds.

They need to bleed as he weeps.

*

A realisation after he left. My motivation was one of premonition. It's manifestation? The ferocious protection of him from emotional harm.

Yet, at almost 22 years old, he lives an independent life, and I have little capacity to influence him.

*

I looked back through my phone and read my previous text six weeks ago to Ross :

'Ok, beautiful. Forget all of the other stuff. Texting is part of our fast and detached lives. Time together talking and being listened to can always help - with your struggles, peace and well-being. I will always be here for you.'

*

My lessons?

Respect my son's privacy.

Adverse life events can't be anticipated, and I must strive to work within my capacity to care, have empathy and act with kindness and compassion.

To love him with passion and concentrate on 'the living.'

To harness every moment with authenticity.

*

At his birthday celebration, I gave him a bejewelled triptych.

[ A commission from the Procrastinating Pinster ]

Accompanied by a handmade card. A tradition in our family.

Inscribed within:

'My lighthouse has returned'

*

‘Breathe: Song by DTO, Equanimous, and Kayla Diana’

*

Pauline Fountain. © 2024. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced without the written permission of the author.