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From bad to worse...much, much worse.
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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 656762" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>No. He never did. He found me and I have her name.</p><p></p><p>My son was appalled that I was not listening. He could not believe I was refusing to listen. </p><p></p><p>Nobody commented on what I think was my best line of yesterday: "I think my son is thinking, where is she and why is she acting so weird?"</p><p></p><p> I thought about that yesterday but didn't know how to put it into words. </p><p></p><p>My son does not want to let go, of me. But not in a regressive sense. He not only needs me. He wants me to be there with him, not just for him. I interest him. He is proud of me. I have not seen this for a long time.</p><p></p><p>At the deepest level, he has always known who I am. Recognized me. In the Object Relations sense. That was our connection from the beginning. We saw each other in an instant and woke each other up. Like Sleeping Beauty. </p><p></p><p>I think for a long, long time I felt shame. Imagine what it felt like to be rejected by him. To feel trashed. Of course, I see it was developmental. In part or all. Who knows?</p><p></p><p>I am thinking of my Mother now. How it must have been so hard for her to feel rejected at the deepest level for who she was by both her daughters. For so long.</p><p></p><p>And whether or not she could voice it or not, what a gift of love to her to be embraced by us as she was dying.</p><p></p><p>With my son, I had lost touch with who I had been, when I felt he had rejected me. </p><p></p><p>With him from the beginning I was hope, a fierce, protecting love. There was only him.</p><p></p><p>So many things happened to that person, I was. But I see that the love is still there untouched. But it cannot be that same love, as you say. </p><p></p><p>At the end there is only this. And this:</p><p> Thank you, Cedar.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 656762, member: 18958"] No. He never did. He found me and I have her name. My son was appalled that I was not listening. He could not believe I was refusing to listen. Nobody commented on what I think was my best line of yesterday: "I think my son is thinking, where is she and why is she acting so weird?" I thought about that yesterday but didn't know how to put it into words. My son does not want to let go, of me. But not in a regressive sense. He not only needs me. He wants me to be there with him, not just for him. I interest him. He is proud of me. I have not seen this for a long time. At the deepest level, he has always known who I am. Recognized me. In the Object Relations sense. That was our connection from the beginning. We saw each other in an instant and woke each other up. Like Sleeping Beauty. I think for a long, long time I felt shame. Imagine what it felt like to be rejected by him. To feel trashed. Of course, I see it was developmental. In part or all. Who knows? I am thinking of my Mother now. How it must have been so hard for her to feel rejected at the deepest level for who she was by both her daughters. For so long. And whether or not she could voice it or not, what a gift of love to her to be embraced by us as she was dying. With my son, I had lost touch with who I had been, when I felt he had rejected me. With him from the beginning I was hope, a fierce, protecting love. There was only him. So many things happened to that person, I was. But I see that the love is still there untouched. But it cannot be that same love, as you say. At the end there is only this. And this: Thank you, Cedar. [/QUOTE]
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