37 Years Ago

It seems hard to believe that 37 years have rushed by. Today, 37 years ago, I gave birth to my son and surprisingly, given some of the risky experiences he's had, he's still alive and presumably surviving. At least, I think he is.

Last year, just before Christmas, I turned up at my home in Florida to begin discussions with him about selling it and getting it ready for the market. I intended to share some of the benefits with him because I thought he was taking care of the property.

What I found was a dump. I had been conned, tricked, manipulated and convinced by my son that he was truly managing it by mowing, trimming, taking care of issues - all the things one has to do to keep a home livable. But he was not doing anything.

And he was undoubtably using drugs and alcohol again, totally against our agreement, as I saw garbage strewn from the back door to the street with bottles and other trash.

The grief and anger I felt at that moment was tremendous along with the huge disappointment of discovering what a liar my son had become. It affected my relationship with my boyfriend at the time, who has had years of dealing with ex-cons, and who tried to help me understand what had been going on. But my rage got directed at him and we split up for awhile.

In time, now over six months since that day, I have come to accept that my son is troubled, and that I can no longer fix him. He is an adult who is entitled to make his own choices, which does not include getting help. Many times in the past ten years I have encouraged, cajoled, pleaded, even threatened all to no avail.

But more than that singular event, which was a turning point in my life, there are all the wonderings and wanderings that I have done since then.

As parents (or aunts, uncles or cousins) we see a child growing and have no idea what life choices will be presented or how the path will unfold. And we don't see how we may play a part in that drama  and sometimes because the life is foreshortened the stage is quickly cleared.

It has not been pleasing to see how many peers of my son have not made it to 37. Some have died from being enlisted to fight a war, some fighting wars on home turf, some from despair, some called accidents, and a few were the consequences of a high school celebration gone horribly wrong.

Ten years ago in Everett, WA during SeaFair when things
appeared to be going along better.

So to celebrate this achievement of one child surviving 37 years, I am making a donation to a local fund that provides hope for young men and women to better themselves and to realize their full potential. And I hope there is someone somewhere who is donating to a similar charity that will benefit my son, wherever he may be. And if he should read this, I want him to know that nothing stops a mother's love and prayers for his protection.