Posted by: Lizabeta | June 26, 2008

You once said…

He writes,  

 I remember writing once, when I was in high school or college,

“Let me be a child forever. Then I’ll be ready.”


I remember when you wrote this. I remember feeling frustrated that I was being forced to grow up. I remember thinking that you would never lose your child-like wonder at the world and admiring you for it and being frustrated at the same time that Immaturity might go hand in hand with it.


A few years after I wrote that, I thought the statement was made out of my desire to remain immature and avoid responsibility, but I realize again the spirit in which I first wrote those words. I’m at a point in my life at which I am comfortable and confident in my abilities as an adult (which is not to say that I don’t have room for improvement) AND I’m not ashamed to wonder about the world as a child would, even if it makes people at the party wonder if I’m having a good time. I really am having a good time.


This weekend I found myself having fun catching fireflies with the seven and under crowd while the adults hung out inside and talked and drank and laughed.  Sometimes I find that I’m more comfortable with children than I am with people my own age.


See a previous post I wrote regarding how easy it is to be You around a child.


I think it may be that children aren’t afraid to ask certain questions about the world, and I don’t mind discussing those questions.  Adults seldom have the patience for conversations that start with “Which bugs like it when you scream?” or “…he’s half Thing, half Superman, half Human Torch, half Iron Man, half Hulk, half Invisible Woman, and half Spider-Man.”


Its so hard for me to see you ponder these things and wonder what life might have been like for my son if you had realized them earlier.  Since I can’t really see the outcome of his life in the future, I just have to hope that your absence doesn’t not become a black hole in his life. Your older brother, how did he fare without your dad? Thoughts of him hang over me like a black cloud.


I feel, at times, a Tug of War going inside of me. Pulling on my left arm is a desire to see the best for my child. That truly means that he knows his parents care about him. A ferocious desire, not to see him happy all the time, but to see him grown into a well balanced adult. My right arm is being tugged by Guilt. Guilt that I made the choice and you had to live with it. Not quite to the same extent that I live with it, but still… there was no ability on your part to make a choice. By my actions, your life was changed.


Do I speak up now? Do I let you continue to ponder life, children, responsibility, the things you wrote to me years ago? Do I show you what I’ve written here? Would it make a difference? Frozen in fear, much like in my dreams. I do not know if reading my posts might make you reconsider or if it would push you further away. And so I do nothing.


Just last night, my husband said, as my son did the ‘worm’ on the floor, even though he kept hitting his chin and it hurt… “Sometimes, I just don’t get that boy.” And I wonder, as I always have, if the person whose genetics have contributed to my sons animation and enthusiasm for life might understand him.





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