Children bring a certain level of frustration to parents that those same children will never understand until they have their own. I know I troubled my mother. I got into activities she wouldn't have liked. I did things that were downright risky and stupid. But I always got in contact with her. Even when things went terribly wrong and it meant admitting I'd lied about where I was going or something similar I still rang and let her know. I'd call and say something not just leave her hanging for days at a time. My big son has done it again. He went off to work yesterday morning and that was the last we've seen of him since. It's strange trying to describe the emotions I'm going through. Each time he does this, disregards our importance in his life, it takes another layer off my heart. I do still love him, but there's a certain hardening. It's like he's a stranger when he acts this way. I know drugs are involved because he's changing personality. He used to be such a soft and tenderhearted young man. Not anymore. He says the cruelest things and even to his own sister. I looked into the eyes of a stranger the other arvo. I felt like telling him to go, get out of my house. He didn't belong here. Yet, he is my son and I don't want him out there at the mercy of people who'll use him and abuse him. He doesn't think they will, yet he doesn't really know the nature of people yet. And even though we've warned and prepared him for it, he proves how gullible he is by flitting off this way whenever the mood strikes him.
There's nothing easy about being a mother. I know that society tries to glamorise motherhood. Mothers are sweet and lovely. They are perfect and beautiful. They do everything with a sense of deep compassion. They only ever smile and just dole out love like lollies from a basket. Nothing can disturb their calm tranquility and the moment you meet them they exude a serenity that is other-worldly. It's a face I don't believe exists. Mothers are tough. They'll keep their families together even if it kills them. Take the story of the mother hen who covered her chicks in a fire. The chicks survived but the mother hen burnt to death. This isn't a pretty tale. That mother hen knew who mattered more in that situation. Mothers exist for their children. Even when those children turn and hurt you repeatedly, she will love but not with a sweet face all shiny and radiant. Her face will show the grimace as she holds onto the memory of that child as a little one. There will be sweat and gritting teeth and nails as she holds out her hand to that child, no matter how many times it's bitten. There will be blood and tears and rasped words of bitterness. But the constant is that she will always hope. No matter how bad her children become she will never cease hoping they will turn and love again.
Kind of a depressing entry. I do apologise, but refuse to change anything. Life deals out some hard cards. At face value I've got a real bummer happening here. But in the long run I know it's more about how I play the cards than what I hold. I'm unhappy that my son is acting so selfishly when we've instilled in him a need not to be that way. Of course he needs to work it out for himself as he keeps telling us, but I can't help feeling it's all just a cop out for wanting to get away with bad behaviour. Not that he's getting away with much, in my opinion. All the boozing and drug taking I did just bit me back. Sure, it was fun for a very little while, but that just didn't last. It never does. I just hate the thought of my son having to go through all that needless pain and torment. Not much else to write about tonight. Sorry once again.
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