Right now, you know only good. As you learn the bad this world can offer I hope you never, ever give up.
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This morning, three short and sobering words changed me for always. They did not merely request my acknowledgement, but instead demanded my attention. Reluctantly, I obliged.
He gave up.
I let those words fall through me, the way an apple falls through the branches of a tree. They hit me as they fell; striking chords and exposing nerves I hadn’t been aware of. They left me sore and searching. They left me bruised and bent where I had been stick straight. Those three words left me crushed and near crying.
And they left me with a plea for the man I’m raising.
Right now, you know of rainbows and crayons, bubble baths and toy guns. You know of cookies and milk, paint and storybooks. You are the epitome of toddler from head to toe. Even so, you are growing ever toward boyhood with each passing day. I cannot deny this as I rub your back with lotion, feeling once smooth skin sprouting fine hair I almost mistake for eczema. From boyhood, you will make your way to adolescence, to my dismay. I suspect the teenage years to be a roller coaster ride. I pray I’m wrong. At last, unbeknownst to you and certainly without approval, adulthood will engulf you. You will transition from boy to man, the man I’m raising right now.
The deepest parts of you will be infiltrated with sadness. You will cry tears that I won’t be able to kiss away.
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When this transition happens, your world will be new. You will see things you can’t unsee. You will know things you can’t unknow. The rose colored glasses I long to keep you looking through will fall off, and all the things I wish I could hide from you will come into view. At the moment, you know only good. The worst things that happen to you in a day are boo-boos and the dreaded time out, having to wear clothes being put aside, that is. Your world is wholesome and beautiful and safe.
And you don’t know what it means to give up.
You have no idea what depression even is. Anxiety is a word I don’t think you’ve ever heard. Grief has no place in your world. And there have been no scars left on your precious heart.
I wish I could keep it that way. I long to keep you in the bubble I feel like you’re in now, with me and Daddy and all the people who would never do you harm. My motherly protection, however, will not allow me to do that. When you become the man I’m raising, you will be out of my reach. I won’t be able to shield you anymore.
The day will come when you get hurt. I don’t mean physically, although I foresee tons of bumps and bruises, broken bones and stitches in the near future. Your personality practically ensures those. But someday, it will not be your skin that bleeds. It will not be your bones that break. It will be your heart. The deepest parts of you will be infiltrated with sadness. You will cry tears that I won’t be able to kiss away. It is unimaginable to me now, as I watch you line up your Thomas the Train engines in the living room floor. But I know this will happen.
It happens to us all.
Do whatever, with whomever, whenever, but do not walk down the path that leads to those three life changing words.
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It is then a choice will have to be made. You will have to decide to turn toward hope or turn toward despair. You will either allow yourself to heal or feed the destruction inside. You will face the light or give in to the darkness. You will have the choice to give up.
This, then, is my plea.
Run.
Run fast and run far. Don’t look back. Don’t give it a second thought. Don’t dance with the what ifs and the if onlys in the wee hours of the morning light. Don’t take one step in the direction that leads to those three words that fell through me this morning. Those words are heavy, back breaking, and grief lined for anyone to say. But for a mother, I imagine they are simply unbearable. I don’t want to find out. Please don’t make me.
Choose the alternative to giving up every single time, whatever it might be. Choose coffee at midnight at the downtown café. Choose a dinner and movie with your Dad. Choose looking through photo albums and home movies to remind you of the life you once loved and can love again. Choose to cry, if that’s what you need to do. Choose time to yourself if that’s what it takes to heal. Choose anything and everything, but don’t give up. Whatever you do, don’t give up.
If you don’t have the strength to stand, fall. If you can’t stand to smile, frown. If you need to let go, go. If you need to hold on, then hold on with all your might. Do whatever, with whomever, whenever, but do not walk down the path that leads to those three life-changing words.
Permit my eyes to close in sleep night after night knowing you chose life and love, rather than loneliness and longing.
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There is no doubt you will fall and face the decision to stay down, to give up. Know this, though, as long as I am alive, you will ever have a hand reaching down wherever you find yourself to help pull you to your feet. It’s my promise to you to always be that helping hand. Please always take it and let me raise you up. I won’t be able to make the pain go away, but I can walk you through it, allowing time to dull the pain. I won’t be able to heal your heart, but I will try to rekindle the joy that burns inside you now, until that joy mends what was broken.
This is my plea to you, the man I’m raising. To the man that is not yet taller than me, the man that holds my hand when going upstairs, the man that says my name in the midnight hours awakening from a dream. To the man that is not yet a man, but my baby, I beg of you. Let me never say those three words that fell through me today about you. Rather, let these three words ever be what I say about you:
He got up.
To the man I’m raising now, please allow me to say this and only this about every time you fell down. Let me praise you in your adversity and continually rejoice in knowing you persevered and prevailed. Let me revel in your bravery. Permit my eyes to close in sleep night after night knowing you chose life and love, rather than loneliness and longing. Let me watch the child who first made me a mother shake his fist in the face of disquiet and dread, and hold his head high in victory, standing to his feet again and again and again. And when I say these words about you, a smile will spread across my face and three more words will escape from my parted lips. I love you.
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Photo: Getty Images
Beth I love this piece. I did not read it as you projecting sadness and doom (my words) into your sons future. As a mother, with child in utero, our instinct is to protect, and it is one of the hats we wear as a parent. If I interpreted this correctly, this is your response to hearing of a young mans suicied or one who has given up on his life in some way. I remember where I was sitting on the floor and what my first born son was doing when I first recognized that I could not protect… Read more »
Dear Beth, feel your love for your boy and understand your concern. but don’t you think the only way to really influence others is to set an example? So don’t let him know in so many words that you want to “revel in his bravery,” because then he’ll think it’s for your sake and not his own that he must never give up.
Beth, I feel that you are setting the tone in life for your boy, a sad tone, I must say… Yes, he will fall and get hurt, as we all do in life. Some people take a fall with sadness, despair, hopelessness and look for mercy and compassion. Others are stubborn in their desire to get up and be happy. These people take each fall with gratitude that life gives them a lesson to learn from and become more mature. As you raise your son agonizing about his future, he certainly feels it indirectly and this becomes part of his… Read more »