It took me a year before I could listen to Queen without bawling my eyes out. It took over a year before I could look through old videos. Things I recorded the year before he left and the things I recorded before things got very bad.
Right after he left I switched back to country music. A lot of country. It was the furthest thing from everything he played and listened to. That's funny because I raised him mostly on country, but his dad got him into classic rock and away he went. I piled songs from my childhood, things my grandparents played, things from my teen years at field parties out in the middle of nowhere on to a play list. I have a lot of fond memories of our back patio, cold beer and late night listening to music and telling stories with friends.
But, there were other nights when the wrong song played and made me a little sad. Nights that left me a little drunk, curled up in my bedroom playing Queen songs until I crawled into bed and fell asleep.
I've had broken hearts but they were nothing like this.
It's not like anyone really gets it. One of my close friends messaged me today to tell me she saw him driving his car. On one hand I want to know he's okay, on the other hand I don't want to hear about this life he has that doesn't include his mother, father or sisters.
The worst part? I know what people think. I know when they hear about a kid who doesn't speak to his parents that they know the parents had to have done something wrong somewhere. Other moms with that happy bubble around them who don't want to think for a second that their baby might turn on them... it's easier for them to look at you and see all the things you probably did wrong.
That's okay, because none of them could be as hard on me as I am on myself. Second guessing every second, every word, every action or inaction. Foolishly believing that honest communication and being direct would save the day. Stupidly believing that family would mean more than the girlfriend and the self-destructive behavior.
I get a little better every day, but I've fought hard to get here. Of course, I say that after having what the family calls "a bad night" the other night. We ran into an old friend, he asked about our son. Sometimes I'm okay, other times it just hits me wrong.
Today is one of those days too.
Right after he left I switched back to country music. A lot of country. It was the furthest thing from everything he played and listened to. That's funny because I raised him mostly on country, but his dad got him into classic rock and away he went. I piled songs from my childhood, things my grandparents played, things from my teen years at field parties out in the middle of nowhere on to a play list. I have a lot of fond memories of our back patio, cold beer and late night listening to music and telling stories with friends.
But, there were other nights when the wrong song played and made me a little sad. Nights that left me a little drunk, curled up in my bedroom playing Queen songs until I crawled into bed and fell asleep.
I've had broken hearts but they were nothing like this.
It's not like anyone really gets it. One of my close friends messaged me today to tell me she saw him driving his car. On one hand I want to know he's okay, on the other hand I don't want to hear about this life he has that doesn't include his mother, father or sisters.
The worst part? I know what people think. I know when they hear about a kid who doesn't speak to his parents that they know the parents had to have done something wrong somewhere. Other moms with that happy bubble around them who don't want to think for a second that their baby might turn on them... it's easier for them to look at you and see all the things you probably did wrong.
That's okay, because none of them could be as hard on me as I am on myself. Second guessing every second, every word, every action or inaction. Foolishly believing that honest communication and being direct would save the day. Stupidly believing that family would mean more than the girlfriend and the self-destructive behavior.
I get a little better every day, but I've fought hard to get here. Of course, I say that after having what the family calls "a bad night" the other night. We ran into an old friend, he asked about our son. Sometimes I'm okay, other times it just hits me wrong.
Today is one of those days too.
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((HUGS))
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