The harder it is to get words out, the more I know I need to. I’ve started this post several times, then deleted it when it just wouldn’t happen. I almost did it again, just now, but I’m going to push through it and see what happens.
I failed. I’m a bad mother. The proof stares me in the face daily. I let one of mine die. The fact is in his empty room. In the images I’ll never get out of my head. In dreams I have no control over. A mother’s job is to keep her children safe, fed, loved. Two out of three isn’t bad, but that one I failed at? Yeah, it was the most important one.
There. I said it. Ridiculous, of course. I almost just deleted this post again; the stupidity of such a statement infuriates me. But that’s the whole point–I’ve been holding back from these pages, from writing any of this, because it causes those I love grief. It makes people uncomfortable. And yet, the more silent my sorrow, the deeper its shadows grew, the more tenacious its hooks. No one wants to be that person, the one everyone avoids because all she talks about is her grief. The person who gets so mired, her black hole just keeps getting deeper instead of less ragged. There has to be a balance between that person and the one who holds her sorrow too close. Doesn’t talk about it. Puts up a brave front. Both are in danger of letting the shadows tell lies we start to believe.
Silence killed my son. He was hurting far worse than we had any idea because he kept it to himself. Whether there’s something beyond this life and he’s having many adventures, or death is simply the end, he is no longer here with me, with us. That doesn’t mean I failed. I fought for him from the day he was conceived, fiercely. Sometimes harder than he fought for himself. I gave him everything I had. More than I ever knew I had to give. That it wasn’t enough doesn’t negate all I was able to do. I did–and continue to do–the same for all my kids. For them, it has been enough.
Modesty is for Suckers started out as a writer’s blog, and morphed when Chris died. It will be a writer’s blog, still. But my life motto isn’t just about writing. A form of modesty has kept me silent, and, like a sucker, I let it. I tag all my entries. If you get here and the content isn’t what you’re interested in, don’t feel you have to say anything. I’m not looking for anything from anyone–just a place for my voice.