Last night- well, as late as 3 am I lay in bed mentally writing my 17 year sons eulogy.
I imagined him dead in a ditch…car rolled down an embankment, sunk at the bottom of a cold cold lake, smouldering in flames… or some such awful thing.
I envisioned him beat up by a gang of thugs…in hospital, his bloodied face swollen and unrecognisable, with no ID on him – because his wallet was stolen- and this was the reason the police hadn’t come knocking on my door.
I even contemplated washing my hair, just in case the police arrived, and then felt awful for being so vain. (It really needs washing though.)
I imagined that someone had slipped him something….some drug, and maybe he had a catastrophic reaction.
I imagined him hurt, in pain, broken, deceased in all manner of ways…All these terrible things.
You see, he hadn’t contacted me to tell me he wasn’t coming home, from a birthday party he intended to “pop” into.
He ALWAYS messages me! He’s good that way and I’m ok as long as I know WHERE they are and WHO they are with. You have to eventually let go,in tiny painful increments and let them have the chance TO be trusted….and have faith that your morals have somehow been ingrained into their psyche, at least when it REALLY counts.
You know they are going to make mistakes. There is no avoiding that. It is the job of teenagers to make mistakes. You yourself made plenty of mistakes, so it’s no use pretending that somehow you have the power to prevent them from making them, because you just don’t. It’s how they learn and grow- but you hope the mistakes they make will not be ones that they can’t come back from.
I tried calling him a million times but his phone just made a funny beeping sound. I messaged his friends on facebook – (it was late, I didn’t want to phone anyone) but they didn’t respond.
I went through all the stages of grief until finally I got the shits and thought, well stuff it…dead or not, I need to SLEEP!
This morning he arrived home and after I threw a colourful hissy fit in the front hallway, where he stood and looked down at me, shocked and a bit awkward in the presence of my grand hysteria, he told me he’d SENT me a message on facebook to say he was staying at his friends place and then went to sleep.
Fancy that. There I am in bed, chewing my arms off with worry,the two sides of my personality in brutal combat, trying to make sense of the situation…calming myself down… freaking myself out, and there he is sleeping like a baby. Snoring and farting in peaceful freaking oblivion.
Obviously there had been a glitch. I didn’t receive the message he apparently sent.
He doesn’t understand. THEY don’t understand. Not until they have their own children will they understand what runs through a mothers (or fathers) mind.
They just cannot understand how much love,blood, sweat and tears (and mental cuss words) have been invested in their existence.
They simply cannot comprehend that the umbilical cord is never severed. It remains invisible to every sense except the soul.
They might scoff at your “over reactions” and roll their eyes at your hysteria, but one day, in all probability, even if only for a fleeting moment, when they have teenagers of their own, in the middle of some dark winters night, they too will learn what it is like to experience the anguish of the mental writing of eulogies.