I have made a couple of poor decisions in the last couple of weeks, and, I cannot apologize. Those decisions have come from a brain crippled with worry. At my age, one gets very good at disciplining the emotive side of the brain. My brain leans towards the analytical thinking side on most days anyway. But, when I worry for my children, I turn into a full blown idiot.
There is something primal about love for children. Specifically, it is a love that has no cause, it is simply consuming; part of the universal law of survival. To concern ourselves with our offspring is to ensure that life goes on. Perhaps this is why parental love is so enduring and encompassing. It must be, or humans would perish from the earth. (I digress.)
My daughter, my youngest, coincidentally, also the smallest. She is the fiercest mother I know. She has had to be, the challenges are astronomical. I have heard that her situation is more and more common in today’s world. My daughter is held hostage 800 miles from her home and family because of the fact that she had a child with a resident of a state that she visited. This hostage situation has turned into the worst nightmare for her and (of course) by extension to her family.
The most common activities that I can take for granted with my other grandchildren are an impossibility. My daughter has two sons, both handsome, smart and kind. I cannot see them unless I buy a plane ticket and they are an impossible driving distance away. (But enough about me.)
Imagine my daughter’s life, no familial support, an ugly and mean man as the father of one of her sons. Every time she works she needs a paid babysitter, must do all of the driving, and all details of life sit squarely on her shoulders. Getting the boys to school Monday morning can be a huge ordeal because her work schedule may keep her into the wee hours of the day. Most difficult, most painful, is the fact that she is alone – and for the time being – nothing can change that. So when a trauma occurs; can you imagine the length of the long distance calls? When that trauma cannot be remedied; can you imagine the tears cried into a pillow, no strong shoulder to cry on here? When the worry for her children cannot be abated, the suffering begins to show in her body, her eyes, her life. Because this suffering has gone on so long, it becomes a pervasive part of this life.
I know for sure that this suffering will end. It has been going for so long, I know that it must stop. In the meantime what damage has been done? What hurts have been internalized?
I also know for sure that the best path for me is not to be her mother and tell her what and how to do. This fierce woman is in survival mode. My best path is to be the quiet and kind friend. Please, please God, deliver us from this evil and give me back my daughter and grandsons.
I don’t want to hear about what you have done wrong. I don’t want to hear about the mistakes you have made. They are only ammunition to justify some behavior, somewhere. Or, perhaps you use those “admissions of truth” to demonstrate that you are, indeed, a good person. Whatever the reason that you unload your negative self statements on me, I don’t care, just stop it. It’s a downer to hear how little patience you have with yourself. It’s a downer to hear about your self loathing and your self doubt.