I Asked for a Brick and You Gave Me a Wall

When Mark was in high school, he was the perfect student, until the middle of his junior year. His grades began to slip and I caught him smoking a cigarette. Now, Mark has had asthma since childhood, so this was a really dumb choice on his part. We sat down and had a very adult discussion about smoking and covered all the who, whats and wheres. I got the promise from him that I wanted to hear, but as I watched his back leave the room, I knew at that rational moment, he was really on his own in the world and he would begin to fully pay the consequences for his choices. Oh, I still had the power to restrict him, but I couldn't follow him around all day long giving him advice about each and every choice. This is a moment that all parents have. We know when it happens for each child. The largest apron string gets cut and we feel it. This is when we playback our prior parenting skills and either have faith in how we raised them or realize we needed to be a little tougher. Either way, it's too late, at this point it's done and they are ushered into the big responsibilities of mature situations. This happened for me with both of my children. The moment arrived at different ages for each one and the scissors came out at the beginning of some 'talk' that is necessary and cut that extra fat string by the end of it.

Who does it hurt the most?...............us

The evening that Marks was cut really hurt because he was my first born and I wasn't expecting it. I ended up on my knees praying a parent like prayer for him. I remember crying a lot and feeling the separation when all of a sudden a seriousness fell over me. It was like God Himself was asking me if I really meant everything that I had just prayed? If I was prepared to go the long haul? Did I trust Him with my son? Could He do whatever it took to get Marks attention?

Now, I'm not saying that I think God brings horrible tragedies into our lives as tools of instruction, but I know that things happen to all sorts of people and these things do get our attention and I believe that God helps us to gain the most out of each situation. So I, with a little trepidation, gave Mark completely over to the teacher called Life. I remember holding out my hands, imagining Mark in the center of them and lifting him up into the Universe.........and then being scared sh%#less for the rest of the night.

Update #16 ~ Today when I walked into the ICC, room Mark looked extra vulnerable. He was ashen in color and I could feel him shaking under my gloved hand. His eyes were closed and his brow was furrowed. I looked questioningly at my husband and he said, "Mark has to do 'the chair' any time now." Mark opened his eyes to look at me and I tried to smile and I felt my lips quiver. He whispered, "I should have d//d" (I can't type the word) "Don't say that honey!" I began brushing his skin with a cool wet rag and asked him to focus on his breathing. I quietly hummed "Close to You" (by the Carpenters) a song we used to sing everyday, while driving to school. The nurse was drawing blood, checking the mass of tubes coming out of his body, in every which way and Mark said to me, "Mom, I want you to go, I don't want you here for the chair, it's going to be ugly and I don't want to have to worry about you.".......gulp....I sucked in as much air as I could because I knew I wasn't going to breathe while my brain tried to fully comprehend what he just said to me. It was another moment. He wanted to protect me from his agony! I have stopped typing and I'm balling into my hands, alone sitting on my couch, imagining....God knows what! Every ounce of me wants to take him back, put him back into my womb and keep him safe from all this. I wwant to go back to that night and say "NO!" to God/Life/the Universe and make this nightmare go away! My son, this... Man, wants to shelter me from having to witness his most agonizing moments and there is Nothing I can do about it! Are you listening to me? THERE IS NOT A DAMN THING I CAN DO ABOUT IT!

I can't type anymore