Someone recently asked me why I write and speak about my life. She was by all appearances shocked and horrified that I would do so. I told her, “I choose to not hide from the truth.” When we are scared or even distraught, we sometimes reach out to others to help us; to acknowledge our pain or to bring peace to our fears or to even run from them. At times the support that we receive can help us to feel comforted. Often, though, we don’t reach out because we know that judgement usually follows. We know that some people merely appear to care while gathering information. Not knowing how to be supportive is understandable. Pretending to be supportive in order to gather the details so that one may “gossip” or judge or avoid accountability is completely unacceptable. To speak is to draw attention to ourselves and that attention can have devastating effects that require strength to stand through. I, admittedly, have not been strong in the face of life’s challenges. There have been those who have celebrated that because I have made it easy for others to “appear to be good.” With each fall or collapse, I have eventually stood, thanks in part to the help and wisdom of my children. The truths in the mirror have been so painful but we, together, are learning to embrace and celebrate the perfectly, irritatingly, messy people that we are.
It was almost time to go to the airport to pick up Ryan’s father. I was alone with Ryan in that ICU room. I could not help but cry as I had looked upon the face of my poster child. His eyes had been slightly open. When I leaned close I had seen the brightness of his blue eyes. For me it had been proof that he was still with us and that the streets of his soul had not been deserted. I later learned that the brightness had been due in part to the drugs that had kept him sedated.
I was standing while listening to the hum of that ventilator that had breathed every breath for him. I just hadn’t been able to bring myself to sit in the chair in that room. As his chest had risen with each rhythm of that machine, I stood over him as not just his mother but also as his protector. I had thought about all the times I had told him, “when you breathe, I breathe.” I leaned close to him and said, “I love you to the moon and back.” In my mind I had heard him as a little boy say, “no I love you more.” I had turned and walked out of that dark room not knowing if he would be alive when I returned from the airport.
After I had arrived at the airport, I went inside to meet my ex at the luggage pick-up. He was turning as I watched him talking to a man; another passenger but still a stranger. I had heard him saying things about Ryan over-dosing and of not knowing what to do. My ex had looked distraught and was speaking in a pained voice. All normal behaviors that occur during traumatic events as we reach for comfort and relief from our pain wherever we can, not unlike addicts. That desperation though can also place us in a vulnerable position. Again, not unlike addicts. Neither of them were aware of me but I was completely aware of them, especially that stranger. He listened intently and whispered in my ex’s ear. As soon as that stranger had realized that I was standing there, watching and listening, he had turned quickly away. His eyes never looked directly at mine. He never offered condolences to me. He had, however, offered to my ex to take Ryan away on his fishing boat in Alaska after he recovered. It was a fishing vessel that spent weeks out on the ocean. My ex saw that offer as a possible answer to keep Ryan safe if he recovered. I saw it as a predator preying upon a vulnerable parent to gain access to a young male.
On the drive to the hospital, I explained what had happened and what the doctor had said. Years ago we had been united in the birth of our son Ryan. Neither of us had imagined that a day would occur where we would stand together as he left this world. Nothing that had transpired over the years in our marriage or subsequent divorce had prepared us for that. We had failed as a couple and we had failed as parents. None of that had mattered though. We had come together to say our goodbyes to OUR poster child. Time had stood still for us even though the world had kept revolving for everyone else.
We walked into that hospital at about 1:00 am in the morning. After we had gotten our visitor passes, we entered the elevator to head to the ICU floor. As the doors opened, I realized that we had gone one floor above where we needed to be. That floor had a chapel on it. I pushed the correct button and as the doors closed I realized that I hadn’t even known that the hospital had one. The doors opened once again and we walked to the double doors that separated us from the unit where Ryan was. I called back to the nurses’ station and let them know that Ryan’s father had arrived. Slowly those big doors opened and we walked that long hallway in silence. I had stopped just outside the final corridor. I told my ex what the room number was and that I would wait back in the waiting room. I had had my time alone with Ryan. His dad had deserved to have time alone with him too.
We are messy people. The fallen angel is sleeping. I am screaming. There are monsters in this world. I once had a dream. The snake is laughing. No matter the size of a sin, there is a price to pay. Why didn’t you do what I said? Is anyone there? It’s me, a mother, and I can’t do this…please don’t make me…
Recent Comments