My son turned twenty-five yesterday. I mourned. Yes, I was reduced to sobs in the middle of the night.
There will be no more birthday wishes. There will be no more gatherings of the family to celebrate life. There will be no more cake with candles. There will be no more children giggling over presents. There will be no more parties to plan. There will be no more excitement over a special gift. There will be no more teasing about the number of candles to blow out. There will be no more “remember when’s.” There will be no more crepe paper streamers to hang and remove. There will be.No.More.
You see, my son is very alive living six hundred miles away, but he may as well be on the other side of the world. He has disowned me. He has cut off contact and never wants to hear from me.
The little boy whom I held twenty-five years ago and shed tears of joy over and made my heart overflow with love, has ripped my heart in pieces, denying my very existence. His last words to me were vile and evil. They spoke of threats and revenge and promises to never allow me to see my only grand-daughter.
How does that happen? I cannot even imagine the man that my tender, sweet little boy has become. Something has overtaken him. Something has gotten hold of him and eaten away at his conscience. I don’t think it was some”thing” but some”one” that has destroyed my son. And the most difficult thing is that there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
Each day that I am without interaction with my son is heart-wrenching. I cry over all of the hurtful things he has said to me over the last six years. I cry for the lost little boy who cried himself to sleep in my arms because he was upset. I cry for the missed opportunities of showing him what a friendship with a mother looks like. I cry because he will never make me laugh again. I cry because he will never ask for my help. I cry over the lies he tells himself and others about me.
But the bottom line is that I cry over the fact that he is no longer my son. I mourn the death of a relationship that I will never have. My son…Is. No. More.