My son is having shoulder surgery today.
Afterwards, he will be in a lot of pain. The idea that I can’t go under the knife for him or transfer his pain to me makes me want
to tear and
It is the same deep un-fulfill-able desire I felt when I realized I had no power to bring their father back, that a life without him was going to be their lives and there was
It goes against everything I believe about mothers, that I can fix anything, can make it all better.
After Art died, I smacked up against that fallacy and found myself on the floor, hurt. My kids’ loss and their continued discovery of what this loss means, humbles me and my mom powers.
Langston’s surgery brings my powerlessness to the front again. This is my son. I want badly to give him a life without any more pain. He’s had enough, thank you very much. But I grudgingly remember, this is another opportunity for him to walk threw the fire. The more he walks threw this crap, the more he will know he can.
If you’re in hell, you have to figure a way out.
My power does not lie in protecting him. My power lies in loving him fiercely as he goes through the pain (and all that includes.) My power lies in having faith in his strength and his courage.
Here I need to follow the advice I so often give to others.
Out of that love will come the healing actions.
I can stroke his hair. I can read to him. I can tell him jokes. I can tell him stories about Art. I can bring him a glass of water.
There is no need for huge gestures of love. It’s the simple ones that have the power.