Part Nine: The Price of Loneliness
Seeing my condo in its utter chaos that night with Sandra, I was sick with sadness for my boy. He was trying. I could see it in the fact that, despite my joking, there wasn't any spoiled milk in his fridge or a single bottle of Red Bull. There were eggs and sliced turkey. A loaf of fresh bread, Kraft American cheese singles, and a gallon of Sunny Delight.
And his cats. Yes, the smell was awful, but they were friendly and loving, wrapping their bodies around my legs. My legs. Someone they didn’t even know. It was so clear they’d picked up my son’s loving temperament.
I could see he’d made so many strides.
But I could also see his loneliness.
The bags from Chick Fil A where he’d pick up dinner just to visit with people before coming home to his empty apartment. The napkins from Fat Tuesdays, where he’d go for open mic night only to be mocked off the stage by people who pretended to be his friends. The Amazon and World Soccer Shop and ThreadBeast boxes, because he shopped all day and night for lack of anything else to do.
In the days and weeks after that evening with Sandra, after my son was allowed out on bond, I had to face the fact that he couldn’t live on his own. His experience wasn’t the same as my younger son’s, my own, or anyone I know. The whole get a job, a place, a car, have friends over, spend weekends at the beach – it wasn’t happening for him.
It hasn't happened for him in his whole life. Why did I think it could magically happen now?
Because I needed it to.
I wanted to enjoy my life with the man who showed up after all the “stuff” my sons and I went through.
My almost two years as a cancer caregiver. My husband’s death. My ridiculous, awful second marriage. How all of it transpired as I did everything I could to keep my boys happy and healthy and knowing they were, are, loved. I swear, I did my best. And when Rob came along, at a time when I was done with the bullshit of dating and was ready to be by myself for the rest of my life, I let myself get swept up. In his arms, his love, the way he gave my sons space and time to get to know him, to trust him. They way he immediately “got” my big guy. The way he insisted we go to New Jersey to see my mom so she could teach us to make sauce.
God forgive me. I knew how lonely my son was and I chose to put my life ahead of his. I chose to tell myself he’d be fine. He’d eventually figure it out. I chose to tell myself that, as long as he and I spoke every single day, sometimes ten times a day, I was being a good mom. He would be ok and it was alright that I went on living my life.
Well, it was not ok and it was never going to be ok and the proof is in the fact that his loneliness led to the situation we’re in now. Maybe if I hadn’t been 800 miles away enjoying my life, he wouldn't have made such a mess of his.
Who knows what the answer is. I don’t. Kids should come with a crystal ball. Or maybe, when you pass the placenta, there should be a pamphlet that pops out with directions. Do this. Don’t do that. And you, with that kid who just arrived? Definitely, positively don’t do this. Not unless you want to see his picture in the post office.
I joke, but it’s only to keep from crying.
I love my son and I’ll do whatever it takes to help him have as full a life as possible. But I want a life, too and I’m so tired of feeling bad about it. I miss my husband and my life with him in the sunshine.
Is that selfish?
This is part of a piece I’m calling “Life On The Inside.” You can read parts 1-8 here, if you’d like to catch up.
If you’d like to check out my other work, I invite you to visit my website for my books and TED Talk, and if you’d like to join me on Facebook or Instagram, I’d love to see you there.
My deepest thanks to all of you for joining me on this journey. Your notes and prayers mean so very much to me. Thank you also to those who’ve become paid subscribers. I didn’t start this newsletter to make money, but anything I earn here goes toward paying for my son’s court-mandated therapy.
Thank you so much for being here and for encouraging others to do the same.
Susan xo