Moving Beyond Pain


It has been 3 weeks since I was blocked from any communication from my son. It has by far been the most difficult thing I have ever experienced beyond any childhood trauma, ugliness, uncertainties with my health, losing friends…

Even though my son isn’t my son in a legal or biological way. I stood in court along with his dad and pledged to be his parent on adoption day. The only difference is that I didn’t sign anything official. He was the son the universe gave me.

Looking back, I should have been more assertive. I should have used my voice. I wish I was strong enough back then, but I wasn’t and what I’m learning is that all we can do is forgive ourselves.

I read a beautiful tribute to “letting go” in my parental alienation group. It had to do with realizing there’s nothing we can do to get our children back. Even if we move on, they stay with us in our hearts. The best part was when he said something along the lines of us living good lives has an indirect positive effect on our children.

So today, I worked on “letting go”. I’m absolutely not letting go of my child, but I have to let go of the pain even though it will ebb and flow. I have to become a person my son will always be proud of no matter what happens. If I see him again or never, at least he will eventually hear the stories of how I continued to live with love.

My son had the benefit of seeing his mom overcome a near lifetime of depression to know peace and contentment. He got to see me smash barriers as I became more sick and eventually totally physically disabled. I hope he holds in his heart that you can overcome anything. I don’t know what’s happening in his life right now, but I hope he holds onto the lesson that even the worst of the worst can be approached with forgiveness and peace.

My reality is I don’t know if I’ll live long enough to reunite with him. I do know that I’m writing to him constantly in a journal for him. I also know that my first personal book I publish, not the one I did as a freelancer, will have many beautiful stories about him, which he will always be able to find.

In “letting go” today, I was able to write 10 pages of my own book. It gave me a renewed love for writing and being creative and how important it is for me to continue with those pursuits as I regain my own sense of peace.

I suppose I feel what “empty nesters” feel when the last of their children grow up and move on. I never expected my nest to be empty when he was 12.

All I can continue to do is live with gratitude that we shared some extremely special times. I also know that no one else’s negative actions towards me, no matter how unfair, cannot have the power to make me miserable forever.

I will probably still be hit with those gut wrenching sobbing moments of missing him so much and be hit with worry that he’s ok.

I hope he’s playing with friends, enjoying middle school, learning interesting things, and shaping into the beautiful spirit I know he is.

Over the next few days, I plan to pack up his things and decorate his room so it’s not quite so painful. The truth is that the clothes, shoes, and toys of his, he will probably outgrow by the time I see him again. I’m not erasing his existence. I still have pictures of him, but the little things like taking his toothbrush out of the holder and placing it in the drawer give me my power back.

I intend to offer his room to chronically ill people as many people with ME/CFS come to this area for treatment. If my son won’t use his space, I could have a series of temporary roommates to stave off loneliness and know I’m giving back to a chronic illness community that has given me so much despite not having that particular diagnosis.

“Letting go” can look like all sorts of things. Are there material possessions you need to get rid of? Do you need to let go of hatred of someone who hurt you so you can truly heal? Maybe you have to let go of your child as I have as you know that for right now it’s best for everyone. Perhaps best, but also extremely painful.

I want to honor anyone who is letting go of something. It could be an idea of who you thought you would be. It could be losing a pet.

Letting go sucks, but I’m hoping it will also bring me freedom.

(The picture is of when even when I would feel sick, I would take my son out in nature. He was free to explore even if all I could do was lay on the ground. He often just chose to cuddle and look at the trees. Wow I miss him)



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