My Mother’s Day gifts arrived this evening. Three days after the actual holiday, my oldest son showed up — apologizing. awkward. averted glaze. gifts in hand.
“I was gonna wrap them, but I knew you would just unwrap them anyway, soooo,” he says, shrugging.
That 1,000 pound weight which I’d been carrying for days lifted.
Attributed to something/someone else, I cannot run from the truth any longer.
I was afraid that he wouldn’t “come through.”
Wouldn’t feel the necessity to honor his mother.
Angry and resentful about many of the choices that I’ve made and that have been made for me, he has constantly resisted and run away from the bond that we once shared.
This is cray cray admitting aloud that I’ve played a significant part in his inner struggles, as well as my own.
It’s amazing the range of emotions that I feel for this particular son. We’ve endured some of the darkest moments of my life together; and I’m finally beginning to realize the impact that it has had on him, emotionally.
How a mother’s anger/insecurities/fears can inadvertently bend and break her child’s sense of knowingness. That invisible security blanket that you feel when you’re little and snuggled up with your mama, watching a funny t.v. show, laughing in unison; complete. It’s a sense of togetherness that we expect as small children in the dynamic between us and our mothers, but aren’t sure what the feeling is called or why it’s vital, it just is.
There is an impenetrable barrier there now and it’s as vast as any ocean. We’ve drowned in it, both unable to swim against the currents for any lengthy period of time.
He occasionally says, “I love you, too.” And my heart catches every time.
My Mother’s Day presents showed up this evening and although I know that there is so much work to be done between us, I have the audacity to feel hopeful.
Photo Credit: Tim-Marshall on Unsplash