If we could, would we raise our children differently, knowing then what we know now?
The woman who submitted her story for me to publish listened carefully as I hesitantly asked her for more details. I appreciated her wanting to tell her story, and I knew I was venturing into raw territory when I asked her to say more about what led her son to use drugs and become angry at her, and at the world.
Her story wasn’t about what she could have done differently with her son. It was about what she needed to do as a parent to keep her son alive. As it was written, the story actually made me angry at her for not trying harder, and I didn’t want other readers to pass the same judgment. We needed more information.
As our conversation went on, it came out that she did try. She tried everything she could. But it was thirty years ago; she was a single mom going to school and working, with neither the money nor the resources to help her son, the love of her life, with his behavioral issues. Realizing it wasn’t only about writing it down but about revealing all the truths that had caused her so much pain, she asked me not to publish her story, a story I felt should be told.
As my husband and I experience our eldest son’s teen years, I feel this mother’s pain as if it could be my own, but I can’t fully empathize. I am not her. I didn’t raise an only son alone at a time when there was no internet for research and ADD wasn’t yet a common label for kids who couldn’t stay focused. I haven’t had to endure my child being bullied by relentless children who were never taught tolerance or acceptance of those different from themselves, and I have a husband as my ally as we work together to get our children back on track when they fall off.
The Roller Coaster Called Parenting
As parents of three boys, my husband and I have been riding an erratic roller coaster, the kind every one of your senses tells you not to trust: the rickety noise as it careens across the track, the sketchy operator who looks like he drank a fifth for breakfast and the feeling of being held in by a simple bar you’re not sure clicked into place between the rusted bolts.
This ride called parenting has taken us on hairpin turns that jerk us into steep descents, leaving our stomachs at the top, and slow ascents that let us recover before we’re pitched into another thrilling drop, screaming and hanging on for our lives.
This mother is paying the price for steering her son away from hurting others and himself, but she lives peacefully knowing that he is more than just alive. He is living well, with a wife and a child, whom she is not allowed to visit. As I worked on her story, I was filled with fear that I too could be that mother who loses her son by disciplining too hard, or not enough. But I refuse to let fear run my life, and at the moment I want to drop to my knees and thank whoever is listening for giving me the strength to do what it takes to raise three healthy boys.
What I’m Thankful For
I am thankful for learning the tools to help guide our eldest son to take accountability for his life and turn it around before it was too late, and that he still tells me how much he loves me.
I am thankful that my boys still expect me to kiss their warm cheeks and say good night and good morning every day.
I am thankful for a husband who has changed his tune from calling me paranoid to praising me for being present and mindful with our children.
I am thankful for having had the time and resources to research raising teenage boys and the effects of drugs on developing brains, research that empowers us to stay the course as we set guidelines and expectations.
I am thankful for children who aren’t afraid to tell me their fears so I can help them.
And I am thankful to live in a place that nurtures spirituality, which keeps me from getting caught up in the noise so I can hear the cries for help, even when they aren’t spoken.
My heart goes out to this mother, and I praise her for not being afraid to do what she knew she needed to do to save her child. I hope that one day her son will thank her for being strong and welcome her back into his life. She deserves that.
