Friday 21 May 2010

Archived Post 2010 - Sadness and gratitude.

Esssie said this in her last post "I have not cried once in the past three years, but I came darn close that day. I have choked on it, I have cut off my own oxygen supply. I have done everything possible other than cauterize my own tear ducts. Because if I cried I would have to acknowledge how really really bad things were. If I did that, I would have to do something about it. And there are not too many choices in the "doing something about it" category. So no matter what has happened, however frustrated, angry, depressed, guilty, furious, whatever feeling whisked through I have forced it to keep going on. Totally unhealthy. Really bad. I know."

I know how she feels, every fiber of being knows how she feels because some days I feel as if I let myself cry over it I will never stop. I do cry, I steal a moment here and there usually when I am alone and the boys are at at school. I started to cry last night when I told Jack about Randall s conversation with me at dinner because it breaks my heart that I have to explain to an eight year old who I love that another person, a person who created him and carried him in her did not value him as a person. She did not love him enough and nurture him enough and coo at him like a mother should to their infant. He was not cherished, he was not protected, he was neglected and that neglect will have a profound impact on the rest of his life. When I think I about that I need to cry.

My son, yes my son, can throw watering cans at me, he can hit me and kick me and tell me to fuck off. He can scream at me that I do not love him enough and that I do not care about him when I follow through on a consequence and yet I do still love him. He hurts me over and over again and I have not rejected him. Why do I keep on loving him when he hurts me over and over again? I keep loving him because the woman who created him did not love him enough, she left him alone, she did not play with him or meet his needs, she got high and drunk and left him to fend for himself and when he was found walking down the street in his pajama's looking for food he was taken away from her and she did not love him enough to put him first. When I think about those things I need to cry.

When I watch my children learn to play, when I watch them have tea parties and catch dragon flies, I get sad. I get sad  because they should have been doing all those things their whole lives and instead they are just learning to do them now. When I watch them learn to play I need to cry.

When my children allow themselves to cry when they are hurt, when they wear my hairspray and deodorant to smell like me, when they scream at me one minute and then ask for a hug ten seconds later I pause and remember that they are healing and attaching.  I need to cry then too.

 I want to cry for my sons and for the countless children in the world whose childhoods are taken away from them by abusive and neglectful parents, I want to cry for them all but I start now I might never stop. Helping children heal is the hardest job in the world. I can't think to much about what I do though because if the tears start I might not be able to stop them. When all children of the world are nurtured, cared for and seen for the beautiful gift that they are I will be able to stop feeling like I need to cry for them.

If you are nurturing a child who was broken by another person let me thank you because you are making difference in their life even though some days it feels as though it is the most thankless job. You may never see the difference you make for that child but you are making a difference with each and every moment that you keep loving them.

Thank you for your courage and commitment to making a difference in the life of a child.