When Your Child Feels Like a Burden to You

“Dad, I’m sorry I need you so much.”

I was walking Josh to his bedroom for the night. He had just hugged me and thanked me for allowing him to go to his grandparent’s house the next day. The hug lingered a bit longer than usual. That’s when he apologized for needing me.

Josh has surprised me many times with what he says. His Traumatic Brain Injury has made things extra difficult for him. Even with the massive injury, some of the things he says are brilliant, some are funny, and some are sad.

Today was the first time I was shocked.

The first thing out of my mouth in response was, “Josh, you can’t say that!”

The one thing that seemed to make sense at that moment popped out instantly. I couldn’t believe my son was apologizing for needing me.

I got him into bed, pulled over a stool, and sat there looking at him while he stared at the wall. I needed clarity on what to say or do next.

Eventually, I said, “These last twelve years since the hit-and-run have been hard on you, son. Incredibly difficult. But Josh, helping you is not a burden to me. I don’t have to. I get to!”

Silence.

“Josh, suppose all the things you can’t do were still possible. What if you could play football, run, swim, and drive a car at this point? If you could do everything any teenager could, I couldn’t love you more than I do now. YOU aren’t less because of your disabilities! None of this is your fault. You didn’t make this happen, so you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“Dad, sometimes it feels like it was my fault.”

“The accident?!”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Oh! Josh, no. Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know. It just feels that way.”

His eyes fill with tears. I’m wracking my brain, wondering, “Have I said or done something to put these thoughts in his head?”

“Even though that feels true, Josh, it’s not THE truth. You were sitting in a car seat, playing with your Batman action figure. A truck driver ran into your mom’s car. You had nothing to do with anything that happened.”

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…

He lay there silently.

“Josh, I love you just the way you are.”

“But Dad, don’t you ever wish you had a different kid?”

That statement was the ultimate ‘gut punch’ for me.

I immediately connected to the trauma from my childhood. I never wanted the thought that Josh wasn’t enough to enter his mind because of something I said or did.

“No way, Son! Never. Not even once for a single second. Don’t ever think that is even possible!”

Silence once again from Josh.

I didn’t know what else to say. My head drops down into my hands momentarily as I reflect. I hear Josh moving, so I look up. His head is on his pillow, crying.

After several minutes and tears from each of us, I told him, “Josh, this might not make sense to you, but I believe your life has meaning and purpose because of who you are. You are alive with your unique abilities for a reason. I also believe you have everything you need inside of you to make the most out of this life.”

“Have faith, Son, and trust that your life will still be amazing.”

Eventually, Josh’s thoughts shift; he loosens up and starts joking by reminding me, “Grandma loves ME best, dad!” We say our goodnights and lights out. I couldn’t disagree. Grateful she does.

…

Considering what Josh has gone through, he carries around plenty of self-doubts. But he doesn’t understand everybody does — even those who live without a massive brain injury or lifelong disabilities.

This morning I dropped him off at his grandparents. I called him a couple of hours later to remind him I would pick him up for his doctor’s appointment this afternoon. As we ended the call, he said, “Thanks, Dad. I’m sorry, I need you.”

I reminded him again that I was happy to be his dad and happy that he was my son. His response was, “I know, dad.”

I wondered if he believed it. His words said, “yes,” but his tone said, “I’m not so sure, dad.” All I can do is continue to remind him of the truth. He is loved just the way he is.

Parenting is such a challenge. For me, it’s hard because there have already been too many other doctors, hospitals, and therapy trips.

Sometimes it’s hard because you have to watch your kid endure things you wish they weren’t going through.

Tragedy doesn’t make sense. But it exists, so we have to learn to live with its existence and try to make the best of it.

Photo by Dulcey Lima on Unsplash

We all need someone.

Sometimes we are good about asking for help. Sometimes we aren’t. Sometimes we ask too soon. Sometimes we ask later than we should have, or worse, not at all. Sometimes we feel weak because we need help.

And you don’t need some epic tragedy or massive problem to be in your life to ask for help or to feel like you need help.

Child, teenager, or adult, needing help doesn’t make you a burden. It makes you human. What needing help does is allow us to love deeply, frequently, and joyously even if the load we carry is heavy.

Ask for help. For yourself. For your kid. For your family.

And no need to feel bad about asking for help, either. After all, we are only human.

Keep the faith. Love wins.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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