After thinking about it overnight I decided to post a longer version of this. Some of you might find some comfort in knowing more of the story and in knowing you are not alone in your own various struggles.
Sometimes we write to try and explain the unexplainable, like why bad things happen to good people. We tell stories about imaginary kids living imaginary lives that no would really want to live. And when someone asks us why, we have no answers except that was a story that kept talking to us until we shared it with the world. Sometimes we make things up because if we told people they really happened no one would believe us. And sometimes we DO make them up. But sometimes they are real, too real to admit they are true, so we write them down and pretend they happened to someone else, to imaginary characters.
As a parent, from the day they were each born, I tried my best to keep my two children from harm. Sometimes it even worked. For years, every Labor Day, I donated money to the Jerry Lewis Telethon for Muscular Dystrophy. I started in 1979, the year my son was born. My husband would go off on a hunting trip and I would snuggle with my son on the couch and watch the show. I held my healthy baby in my arms, so grateful, and gladly gave my credit card number to the lady on the phone to help Jerry’s kids. 24 years later, when that same son was diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy, I felt numb. But I went to work doing my mommy job, guiding him when he wanted guidance and listening to him rant when he wanted to rant. I had wanted to keep him from harm but I couldn’t. And when (for safety issues) he had to leave a job he loved and go back to college for retraining, I wanted to rant and rave at anyone who would listen (and a few who wouldn’t) about the unfairness of it all. Genetics aside, I felt like I had failed as a mom. I hadn’t keep my son safe.
My daughter was born three years later and as different from her brother as two siblings could be. He was the introvert, content in his small circle of friends. She was the extrovert who had to go everywhere with everyone. She never met a stranger and whenever anyone new moved into the neighborhood she was the first one to know all about them. When she was mad, everyone around her knew it because she wore her heart on her sleeve for the world to see. Her emotions went miles high and miles deep. Keeping her safe was a full time job and over the years we have ranted and raved with and at one another. But even when she makes me crazy, I’ve never stopping believing in her ability to do whatever she wanted to do, even when, as she has many times, she stopped believing in herself.
But she’s all grown up and a mommy of her own now and I can’t keep her safe anymore. That’s a hard one for me. Genetics, sometimes a twist or lack of something in your DNA can give you a battle with something like MD. And sometimes it gives you other demons to fight. The kind you can’t see.
So sometimes, we write. We tell stories to help heal a nameless hurting child because we cannot heal our own children.
Thank you for sharing this post. {{}}
You’re welcome. There was a lot more to the post before but then I realized I couldn’t, shouldn’t share it here. Sigh.
Very understandable, but what you have shared reminds many of us that we’re not alone….
you know, i’ve been trying to get the courage to talk about the illness i live with in children’s fiction. your entry was inspiring and reminded me why i really wanted to do it–to reach out to some ‘nameless hurting child’ so she/he wouldn’t feel so alone. thank you for this.
Oh please try to write it out. It helps. It hurts like hell but it helps. Hugging the Rock was like that for me. And living is like that for me now. I know there is fiction that will come out of my current life stories. And I hope it will help a hurting child not hurt so much.
Thank you for going deep into the story, Susan.
But not quite deep enough. Never quite deep enough to save a child. A certain child. I just have to watch the out of control spiral moving farther out of reach and hope for a safe landing somewhere.
don’t we ever. It’s bad enough dealing with my own demons. It’s the demons my children fight that I find the hardest to handle.
Wow, that is powerful. Thanks
Susan, I hope you can somehow ease your child’s pain but I am smart enough to know there are limits to things we can do as a parent. G-d it hurts to read this post. The words are beautiful, ethereal to read, and yet I know they’re earth-locked, heavy-hearted and borne from physical pain.
Hugging you. It’s all I can do to tell you I’m by your side, trying to stop the cyclone engulfing your loved ones. {}
-Pamela
Thanks, Pamela. Hugs greatly appreciated.
I appreciate that you have shared this. It does help to know we’re not alone.
ah, you are a GOOD mom!
“So sometimes, we write. We tell stories to help heal a nameless hurting child because we cannot heal our own children.”
Oh, Susan, I’d missed this post somehow, so I’m glad your latest post made reference to it. I’m choking back tears because I *know* what it’s like to want to keep my child from harm, but to feel I’ve failed. Like you, I feel comfort in doing something to help other children avoid the same fate…where possible, at least.
You are your children’s rock, I’m positive.
I somehow missed this yesterday, too. And like Melodye, I’m glad you mentioned it today because this is a very touching post.
Thank you, Dot. I tried to be careful what I said and I know if my daughter ever reads it she would be livid even though I didn’t say any of the particulars but I am stretched to the max and it helps to write things out. Sigh.
Melodye, I thought of you after I wrote it because I knew you would know so much of what I was feeling (as do many other parents.)
I wish there was a battle I could fight in their place, especially my daughter right now.
Some important battles are fought behind the front lines. You are, I’m sure, offering her spiritual/emotional support that will matter later, even if it doesn’t seem obvious/effective right now. In turn, let us offer you our support. I’m sending you prayers for strength and peace.
You are a great mom. Thank you for sharing this story.
The verdict is still out on that one. The letting go. The letting go in order to let them fall. Oh gosh that is hard.
This is very moving.
I wish the best for you and your family.
Marybeth
parenting
Oh, I’m so glad you posted more about this story. Sometimes, I just wish I could reach through the computer to give you a hug.
((Stay strong))