As I’m writing this, I can see my angel on Earth, his sleepy eyes fading as his head lies at the foot of his bed. He peers through the tiny opening of his bedroom door. I put him to bed with his two books after a night with a babysitter because I had a PTA meeting and Daddy had hockey practice. Now he has to go to bed with his eyes on me.
Luckily, our house is tiny, and he can see me in the family room, watching TV and blogging, from the safety of his bedroom. When I dropped him off at the babysitter, he said as I walked away, ‘Mommy, I want to go with you.’ He looked at me with wide, sad eyes. Earlier in the day, he looked at me with those same eyes, when I dropped him off at daycare, and said, ‘Mommy, do you promise you won’t leave me here forever?’
Every day for the past three months, he has asked me the same question. Each day, as I give him one kiss, and one hug, and allow him to tell me ‘one more thing’ before I go, I assure him, Daddy and I promise, we will always pick you up. We will never, ever, leave you forever. You will always come home with us.
But I too, have the same fear. Just as he has lost a mother, and another, and fears it may happen again, I too have suffered traumatic loss, and fear I may lose him.
Sure, our circumstances are much different. He had a birth mother that was incapable of parenting. Then foster parents who were never meant to be more than a temporarily solution. I had a son who was destined to be an angel.
But our fears are one and the same. We fear a life without each other. He worries he will be left at daycare, and I will never come back to get him. I fear that he will make a spontaneous, consequential decision that will lead to tragedy.
And we will each be left with heartbreak, once again.
But I have the advantage of logic, and experience, and years of therapy, and unconditional love. I know that tragedy occurs, and terrible things happen, and children die. But I also know that love prevails, and parenthood is the greatest gift, and enjoying every second is better than fearing every potential heartache.
But he doesn’t. He’s just a sweet, innocent, wounded, tiny human. And all he needs is unconditional love, and reaffirmation, and security, and consistency. He needs repetition. He needs solid people who love him, and support him, and constantly remind him that he is safe, and secure, and does not need to worry.
It will take time. A whole lifetime, I am sure. But in that lifetime, I hope that my little guy and I will finally find that sense of security that we both deserve. The security to believe that we will always have each other. And no distance, no obstacle, no plane of existence, can come between us.