“i want to be you.”
“why?”
“because then i wouldn’t be mean. remember when i was mean to you?”
we have come through some hard times these past few months. dark ages. orbiting without sun and kindness. yes, i remember when you were mean to me. you were struggling then.
within the past two days, a spark has been reignited. it’s wonderful to see.
“i’m happy to see you building with your legos again.”
“but momma, sometimes when i build with legos i feel mean.”
“are you remembering how it felt at your old school, when you build with legos all the time?”
“yeah.”
those days were heavy. medieval. dungeon and chains. they were simply how you were feeling. those days were not the real you.
the real you is who i see now when i tell you i’m proud of you, when i tell you that i can trust your word, when i tell you i’m so very lucky to have you for my kid.
“what mean things did i say to you?”
i don’t want to answer this, but it seems he’s requesting this thing called processing. maybe it’s our way of closure – this, whatever this is. so i go with it.
here is what is
“well, i remember you telling me that you wanted me to die.”
“and that hurt your feelings?”
“yes. that actually made me cry. but i knew you still loved me. i knew you were feeling very mixed up and uncomfortable last winter.”
i don’t tell him what i remember the most. the eyes that had been so full of life and exploration gone cold. grey ash in the woodstove. there was no denying his eyes back then. i try to push the thought out of my mind because it seems so far from where we are now.
i don’t tell him the moment i remember the most, the public parenting on that deck when i knelt down to speak to him and i watched him watch my face, not to see my lips forming the words he didn’t want to hear, but to wait for my pause … then to say, “i want to break your teeth.”
i don’t tell him how i turned away with absolutely nothing left in me but sadness. and the fear that i had failed him.
“momma, how about a big bear hug?”
he climbs on my lap now to tell me that he doesn’t want to be mean.
i know that the real you is incapable of harm. i know that you were trying on that armor, that skin that fit too tight. you were weilding the weapon, unsure of the blade but knowing that whatever it was, it was heavy and held power and revealed anger. the real you was scared of you then. i wonder what i could have done to help you more, but in truth i know there was nothing more i could have done. you simply had to be. and i had to wait for you to return. unconditionally. always, always, unconditionally.
we continue our conversation about legos and he listens with his head pressed to my chest. i think when you build with legos you are reminded of that time that was very very hard. i think of classical conditioning, i think of memory stored in fat cells, i think of smells conjuring up memory. but we are in a good place now, you and me.
and i’ve been thinking of those legos up on the shelf, going untouched for the most part these past two months… as you have been orbiting closer to me, in the light, revealing beauty.
i’ve been thinking of how much you must have needed that intense focus, that outlet, that diversion from reality because your school environment was so unhealthy at a time of life transition when you needed only support and love and a little peace and quiet.
i’ve been thinking these past two months, if that was it for the legos. if i’d see no more of your amazing creations nor share in your excitement over the smallest of details. i’ve been hoping that this window into your mind had not closed for good. but if so, i knew how much i would miss it.
we share a hug and you tell me that you love me. then you hop down and dump the legos across the table and start again with something new, whispering to yourself the plans in your mind for the helicopter that will fly us up to boston and the coast of maine.
