ADHD · Life

Rough Draft

20150923_214558Sometimes pain is palpable. It is treacherous and abhorrent. I want to kill it. The world will tell me its God’s fault, but the world is idiotic. The same world will tell me everything is someone else’s fault.

It’s not my son’s fault he is who he is. It’s not mine either. And it’s certainly not God’s. The in between thoughts came into my head that heaven was silent today. Maybe God expected me not to drink wine. Maybe He let me because, well maybe it was o.k. The sting the pain brings of your child suffering is harsher than the innermost pain of bitterness. I never thought I could love anything more than my grandmother. And then I had my children. And it wasn’t that I loved them more, it is that I loved them without explanation. Maybe that explains why she loved me so much. I came from her daughter, and so I came from her.

But my son is different. He suffers. I suffer. I, on occasion drink wine after sending him to his room. I want him to get it, but he doesn’t. I don’t know why I think it will change. You don’t expect someone in a wheelchair to get up and walk. I want him to get up and walk. But somewhere in there he is sometimes trapped. And I cry. And then there are the calls. I become defensive. Why is my parenting on trial? Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just the constancy of defending my son that’s got me here. I am always defending something. A client, an agency, my children, my decisions, my Jesus. I’m always defending Jesus. Why don’t people just leave him alone; him and Jesus.

There is a light inside of my son that I can’t explain. I can see it from far away. He is St. Francis to me. He’s so smart, and it’s natural. Everything about Him is naturally smart. But he fights with own emotions and then I fight with his emotions and I can’t seem to control my emotions, well because now I am emotional.

I want to shake my fist at heaven, but I talk a big game. I can’t. He is sitting right there seeing what I will do. Am I going to drink myself into oblivion or run headfirst into the pain? They both hurt, and so does my head.

But pain is transparent. It is all over my face. Yet, nobody sees it, but Him.

I won’t blame the one who saved me, or curse him for making my son imperfect. I find shame in myself for blaming Him. I can’t blame Him. He expects so much more of me…

If we can’t be honest with our pain, how will we ever make it to His throne? The foot of the cross exists just for these things. I am in quiet desperation, and my son is sleeping, and the wine is dwindling down to slivers of ice cubes. I am still completely coherent. I am still hurting. I am still human.

How do you watch someone suffer? You don’t. You punish yourself. You grit your teeth. You attempt to tell Jesus what you really think of Him. Until you realize that He’s been the one sitting there listening the entire time. And He’s crying too…

I don’t need my son to be perfect, I need the world to be less cruel. I’ll love him whoever he is. I love him more because he’s different, because I’m different. I don’t understand what goes on in his head, but I don’t have to. I trust that God made him and will care for him even when I want to cry myself to sleep. Full times jobs for working moms who have special needs kids fit round peg in square hole. I don’t want to answer any more calls about why my son can’t control himself, I just want you to understand.



16 thoughts on “Rough Draft

  1. I don’t want you or your son to suffer Melissa. It is even hard reading your pain. Wish I had a comforting solution other than uniting suffering to his cross. When one rejoices we all rejoice and when one suffers we all suffer as one body in Christ. I am praying. God bless you.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Melissa I’ve lived with my son’s learning disability and ADD all throughout school–the frustration of why can’t he “get it” matched my knowing that he was / is bright and smart, yet it wouldn’t come out as needed for school.
    We fought, attended special schools for reading, he had tutors, couldn’t play sports as his agilities, or lack there of, couldn’t keep up with he other boys—this in a school system rooted in athletic prowess.
    He fell between every crack—and I was working in the same school system, fighting all the way a system that actually failed him.
    At 27 he waits for his BS—which has been a road long fought and hard…
    I was not alway patient nor kind.
    I was tired, frustrated for both of us and mad plenty of times at God—never understanding why did it always, always, have to be so hard and difficult for him…the tears, the heartache, the disappointments, the frustrations almost unbearable…
    but it has made him who he is—it has formed his personality and it has honed his gifts—it is not easy, will not be easy…but it will be as it is to be…

    Liked by 3 people

  3. Even in your frustration and pain, God has a plan for all of this. I know how you feel though. My son went through addiction to alcohol, but by God’s grace he got through it. Whenever he said something about the pain he was in, I felt it too. Today he is a strong man, with a well grounded faith, a good employee, friend, hard worker and of course a great son.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Sweet Melissa, each of us has been created in God’s perfect image. And your son has been given a unique gift, and the same Spirit abides in him, just as He abides in each of us. Children are closer to God than we realize. Maybe it is he who watches you suffer and carries that pain in his heart.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’ve discovered a lot today. I’m taking care of Jesus. And it’s beyond that. My son is time in adoration. He is the monstrance before me.

      Liked by 1 person

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