I wish I could say things are better but they are not.
My son called yesterday. He is preparing to leave here, and never come back. He expects a doomsday event in August or September at the latest. He wants to come here to the house to see us to say goodbye. I suggested that we go out to eat. He replied that would be fine but I want to see everybody, including the pets, Stella, Dolly and Romy.
Since then I cannot shake my sadness. M says it is not sadness, it is fear, that I am afraid of my son coming to the house, afraid of him.
I feel like I cannot bear the sadness that he is not getting better, and the idea that he may never. I know I am not the only one, but I find myself jealous that Lil again has hope that her son will get better and I have none.
I ask myself, if we had not thrown my son out 4 years ago and found another way, getting him an apartment or whatever...would it be different now? Is there something, anything I can do to repair this which is killing me?
I know, I know, I have to work on me, on having a better life, but I seem to be unable thus far to do it.
The plan to leave town is still on, and we will do it. M talked to his sister about Dolly and I talked to her about Romy. M says it is almost certain she will take care of Dolly the Boxer but not Romy, the Yorkie because she is afraid he will escape and get run over. She lives on a street where the cars go fast, and Romy is an escape artist. I feel very, very sad about Romy. I love Romy. But can I sacrifice my life for him? I hope not.
I keep wanting somebody, somewhere to understand. I cannot live if my son does not get better. There is something broken in me, that cannot be fixed...if he does not get fixed. And there is nobody I can appeal to, no power that will hear me. I am so sad.
But I am sad, too, if it is the end of my life. And if I never get out of bed, it is an end.
M said something this morning, which struck me. His mother will go home in a week. His Dad is hospitalized, almost died because of diabetes. The doctor says he needs a full time caretaker from now on.
M's Mother dreads going home. She feels she is reentering prison. But she will go, to take care of her disabled son.
I said to M: will it not be better with someone in the house? I mean, for your mother. Will his power over her be diminished?
He said, it might. When your mother worsened and was bed-ridden her authority over you much lessened.
While my mother was here and still mobile she tyrannized me in my house. 24 hours a day.
This is good for me to remember. When I feel guilty for the bad, bad thing I did, which I cannot even write.
I am wondering right now. How was I ever able to do the work I did in prisons, and I did it very well?
It seems I am unable to set limits or make distance or put my interests above anybody I love...if they are vulnerable. Without paying a price which is unbearable.
How in the world did I do what I did in prisons? I was caring, I was strong, deliberate. I was true to myself.
Maybe I need to try to go back to work.
My son will call so that he can come over. And I am dreading it. But I cannot say no. M will be working until 8 or 9 pm. Perhaps I will ask my son to wait until tomorrow, so that I will have M with me.
I do not know what in life I did to deserve this pain. I know it may have been determined from the start. I still cannot accept it. But I know I must.
I know everybody here loves their children like I love my son. And I really, really don't know how to accept what is happening to us.
Sorry.
