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Friday, April 22, 2011

A day of reflection

What is normal, anyway? Is that something I would even want, normal? Probably not! I love so many parts of my life that to remove any part, even the bad stuff would make me a different person.
I got a phone call from my son, Zack, today. He was somewhere in an abandoned garage staying out of the rain. He was smoking pot, and drying off. He had just gotten off a train and was getting his bearings. I was glad to hear from him. I was glad that he was alive, and safe, for now. How can I, as his mother, find comfort in these things? I just have no other choice. I choose to find something good in it, because to choose otherwise would be unhealthy for me.
I am not the picture of health, mental or otherwise, exactly. I am sad, most of the time, but I hide it well , it think. I hide it with a smile, and humor. Like most people with denial I think I am hiding my problems, well. I am mostly hiding them from myself. I know that.
When the end is in sight, the choices we make, about who we are, become clearer. I decided to find solace in  the warmth of motherhood. I am Zack's mother, for better, for worse. I love him, and whether he is destitute or prosperous he is my son, and I am his family.
When I drive past a person holding up a homemade cardboard sign that says something like "will work for food" I think of my son, Zack, and his lifestyle. He has a home, he always has. He grew up in a family who loved him, and respected him. He was given an opportunity for recovery, many opportunities actually. Hazelden, St. Cloud Children's Home, Omegon, to name a few. I know it is up to him, but that does not diminish the pain.
Nate, my youngest, and only other child, called a couple of days ago in a psychotic haze. He was describing the demons and angels that interfere in his life daily. He accused me of not believing him. I did, but I admit that I do not understand it.  His highs are my highs, his lows are mine as well. I feel guilty having a good day, knowing that he is suffering. His recovery is iffy at best. He will be mentally ill for life, and I will be sad everyday, because of it.
This is my legacy. This is my reflection.