The 3 C's

''You didn't cause it, you can't control it, and you can't cure it”.

I constantly have to remind myself of this tidbit of information. I unconsciously stumble in life thinking I can solve everyone’s problems, while I myself suffer.

Is it suffering? Nah, not so much. I choose to feel sorry for myself and my situations. WAAAAA.

Life can sometimes suck the happy right out of you. It’s those troubling times when you have to pick yourself up, dust yourself off and pour hydrogen peroxide over your scrapes. Nobody said life was going to be easy. Let’s face it.  It ISN’T.

I never thought I’d be where I am.  I never thought I’d have to watch my boy committed to a mental hospital at 23. I NEVER thought I’d have to observe my son shuffle with shackles across a room, hands cuffed to his waist and the sound of chains jingling. Every step he took he struggled and as a mother I wanted to run to him and fix his leg chains and demand they be removed. HOW DARE they do that to my son.

Months have passed and still I hurt. A LOT. This turned my life upside down. I came to rely more on GOD. More on my family. ( a select few )

THEY know who they are.

The others?

Not so much.

I reflect back to a conversation my aunt had with my mom about her son. (He’s gay) and family members (a select few) were uncivilized about it.

(Like they have been with my son)

I remember how hurt she was. Sitting over tea with my mom at her kitchen table, tears in her eyes, talking in riddles.

 “It’s the sisters’ code of conduct.

I tried to follow along, but realized as the riddles got harder and the topic constantly changing.(for MY nosy ears) Their eyes darting around the room, and their sentences trialing off.. I was an intruder. Better left to my own devices… and it WASN’T theirs.

Thinking back, it was like the forbidden sibling room you entered as a kid, the huge red sign hanging on the bedroom door,

(KEEP OUT OR ELSE)

You don’t fit in this conversation and you’re NOT invited, so please stay out.

Awww, the beauty of a sister.

I won’t forget that hurt on my aunties face. The ridicule she must have felt and heard.  (How I wish I had known then) How I’d comfort her and hug her, lean on me I would have said. CRY with me. We’ll get through. Let me say… she DIDN’T cry because her son was gay. She cried for the hurt the others bestowed on her son.

I personally know now just how my aunt felt when her son was criticized over his sexual preference.

Mine too will be judged, just not for his sexuality but for his mental state.

Disappointment plays a major roll. Not in a son who became lost in another world, but in a family as a whole.

I’m not going to sit here and call names. I’m not going to sit here and demand an apology. I will tell you, how much I hurt over your inability to comprehend my feelings, my hurt, and my aguish. My question is.. WHERE WERE YOU?  Where were you when I couldn’t function? When my life came to a fiery crash? Where?

I keep reflecting back to how my aunt held it together that day when I was part of a conversation I knew nothing about.

Now that I’m older, I realize what they were talking about.  I know now, how my mom came to pick up the pieces for her baby sister.

Like what my sister is doing for me.

She’s picked up the pieces. 1 at an a agonizing time. As I bent to pick one up another 2 fell. She grabbed those and glued my heart back together.

I sat at my sisters dining room table and I cried like a baby. When the holidays came and went I shuffled through not wanting to rejoice in any holiday activities. I cooked in a fog, and she brought me through it. One day at a time. I cried as I took a bite of my mashed potatoes.

Hearing my sons voice in my head… (when he was 9) Where’s da gwavvvvy? I smiled and cried…

His lil boy voice echoing in my head.  

I never thought I’d have to experience what I have in a year’s time.  Emergency rooms, hospital stays, a mental ward, jail, and finally a half way house.

Each day I reflect back to:
''You didn't cause it, you can't control it, and you can't cure it”.

I don’t know WHY my son chose to take the drugs he did.  When I asked him to stop, I was told I didn’t know what I was talking about.

I can’t fix him. He has to fix himself.

I’m not responsible for his actions. Yet, as a mother I blame myself.
E- V- E- -R- Y single D- A- Y.

Where did I go wrong?

And my sisters words come into play… PRAY SISTER. Be that mighty prayer warrior you were destined to be. LEAN ON ME. I’ll be your rock.

THANK YOU SISTER!! For getting me through the most difficult time of my life.

I LOVE YOU.