Losing My Son

LOSING MY SON

By Coleen Liebsch

 

I can’t believe I agreed to this. When I signed the papers six months ago, I hadn’t realized how quickly the time would go.

I tried to maximize the moments by giving him extra kisses and hugs whenever possible. I thought if I hugged him ten times more often than a mother normally would that it would last me ten times as long. I thought if I cemented the memories in my head of a thousand kisses on his forehead that it would hold me when they stopped. I was wrong.

I sit down on the edge of your bed. I don’t want to disturb you but I don’t want to miss out on these last few minutes together either. We are down to only two short hours and I stayed out of your room as long as I could.

I stroke the back of your head and you smile in your sleep. How can I possibly give you away? How can I leave you to fend for yourself in the world when all it takes is the touch of my hand to make you happy? How can I abandon you now?

I fight back the tears because I’ve already shed too many over the inevitable. I bend over and kiss your cheek lightly. You still look like you did when you were first born in so many ways. The birthmark on your cheek and the curve of your brow are just a couple of the things that I’ve tried to memorize. I’ve been trying to fill my mental photo album with images from every moment of your life.

I’m so afraid I’ll forget how much I love him. I know it’s for the best that I get back to having a life of my own too, but he has been my WHOLE life. How do I go back to being what I was before he came along when my entire priority system changed completely?

It’s for the best. Regardless of how hard it’s going to be, I have to be strong. He deserves a life filled with love and adventure and I just can’t provide those things for him. How could I ever watch him fail when I can’t even watch him fall off a swing without breaking down in tears? It’s for the best.

He stirs a little in his sleep as his normal wake up time nears. Normal , in that it’s the time he’d been waking up for the last two weeks. One of the conditions of acceptance was that his days would now begin at 8 am and he had better be used to it. He had actually dealt with it easier than I had, but I guess that’s just another reason that this is for the best.

I start going through the checklist in my head for the millionth time. Did I remember to tell them that he’s allergic to metals against his skin? Did I remember to tell them that he absolutely will not eat anything related to squash and if you force it he WILL throw up? Did I make sure to tell them that he’s scared of clowns? That is HUGE! I absolutely can NOT forget to tell them that when I drop him off.

How can I possibly drop him off?

I don’t even want to wake him. I just want to sit here with him until they come and drag us out! But I know that would be bad for you. I don’t want to make this hard for you because I know it’s for the best. I have got to be strong.

I don’t even know where to find the strength to deal with something like this. I can’t. All I can do is pray that God will give me the strength to do what’s right. To make the decision that is best for HIM. The weight on my chest becomes lighter as I find the trust for God and the transfer of His strength.

I can bear it now. It’s 9:00. It will be hard, but I can be strong for this one last hour. That’s all we have left before they take you away. I will have plenty of time to break down after you’re gone. For right now, I need to act like it’s the most exciting day of your life. I won’t taint your new life with the misery of my loss.

I wake you up with a kiss on the cheek and a “Good morning, Sunshine!” The sun is shining through your window. It won’t be difficult to act cheerful for just one hour.

I help you get into your clothes for the day. I know you can walk, but I can’t resist the urge to carry you to the kitchen for your breakfast. I take out the ingredients for pancakes as you prattled on about what you expect the day to bring.

Part of me is glad that you are so excited about your new adventure. It shows that I did a good job preparing you to be without me. It also breaks my heart a little. Will you miss me at all? It’s the question I can’t ask so I push it out of my mind. I can always break down later, I remind myself.

I had promised to make this morning special with sprinkles on the pancakes and it’s wonderful to hear you laugh. You dump a pinch of sprinkles into your mouth. I am going to miss you so much. LATER, I remind myself more forcefully.

I check your bag one last time and pull the zipper closed. I included a couple of snacks for the trip but what if they don’t notice whether you’re actually eating anything? You tend to forget to eat if you’re having fun.

You will be having fun without me. I am going to miss out on everything! I think of you smiling up at a new woman’s face and accidentally calling her Mom. My heart is breaking.

I worry that the world will be mean to you and there won’t be anyone there who loves you enough to take your side. What if you get hurt? Who is going to hold you and tell you that everything is going to be alright?

You’re just a baby. I thought I was ready for this. I was wrong.

Our time is up. It’s time to leave.

I try to talk to you in the normal sing-songy tone you’re used to but my voice threatens to break. I gather my strength and smile while I help you into your sweatshirt. I linger longer than necessary as I straighten your collar and pull you close for one more last kiss. You pull away with an “aw Mom” and grab the backpack that I pray holds everything you will need.

The drive takes almost exactly as long as I’d planned but like everything else this morning, the time flies by much too quickly. You are already opening the door when I put the car into park and turn off the engine. How can you be so anxious to get away from me? Aren’t you going to miss me at all? LATER, I remind myself. This is best for you and it will go much easier if you’re happy about it. Regardless of how much it hurts, it’s what’s right.

I get out of the car and catch you just before you get to the entrance of the building. You give me the “Aw, Mom” look as I straighten your collar one last time.

I ask if you’re sure you know where to go while I pull you into one last hug. It is taking all of my strength but so far I have conquered the tears. I kiss your cheek longer than normal then I ask one last time if you want me to walk with you to the room.

You assure me that you’re fine and give me a brief peck on the tip of my nose and a big hug around my neck. “I love you, Mom. Have a great day!”

With a quick thumbs up and a wink that’s really more of a blink, you turn from me and reach for the door. You look so tiny as you reach up for the handle. Are you really strong enough to do it without my help?

I’m still crouching in front of the door when you duck inside. It closes hydraulically behind you. Are latches always that loud? It sounds like the door is being locked behind you and a jolt of fear strikes my heart.

Then I see your little face pressed up against the window next to the door. Your big cheeky grin re-assures me that I am doing the right thing. I touch your hand behind the glass before you turn away from me, leaving me touching nothing but glass.

As you turn the corner and disappear from my view, the first tear drop spills from my eye. You’re a pre-schooler now, and I pray the world will be kind.

Impressum

Texte: Coleen Liebsch
Bildmaterialien: Coleen Liebsch
Lektorat: Deborah Merkwan
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 13.04.2013

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For TJ You will ALWAYS be my baby.