Therapy, that’s half of why I write isn’t it?
Kind of looking at my existential crisis like it’s a bunch of frayed twine that somehow, if I could organise my thoughts, solve these hang-ups I have, I could turn life into a very sturdy rope, strong enough to keep wind in my sails and reach a desirable destination.
My first born passed away, his face in my hands. I stroked his beard and asked him to leave me with a smile. He did. He was 28. He loved me so much; it scared me. He was (is?) my son. I wasn’t a great mother. I am so emotional. He told me the first time he saw me cry it destroyed his world, he was just a baby but he remembered. I feel awful for wanting to cry but stopping myself even in the shared grief with his younger siblings.
If you’ve read enough of my posts you know my marriage was its own weird thing. I married the father of my children, before I knew how many or who they would be I knew he would give them to me.
We were engaged, living together temporarily while I applied for colleges and hoped I could get in-state tuition then move into the dorms… The conversation of me moving out didn’t go well, my fiance was afraid I’d take after some young college guy. It never came to that because a tree limb fell on my head; at the hospital we found out I was pregnant but the trauma was certainly going to be too much for the barely-a-baby to survive, if I was lucky enough to.
I had wanted to be a mommy since I was three; I had faith we would pull through and we did. Studies show an embryo will send the mother stem cells to protect her. From the beginning he was my angel, and I tried to be his. Did I try too hard or not hard enough? They told us when he was six he was showing signs prone to cancer. We tried diet changes. We inadvertently tried different locations and lifestyles. Some things, I have to accept I couldn’t have changed. (What if I had had the strength -family support- to be a single mom?) Was I too lenient, was my love too unconditional?! Was I supposed to fight harder to keep him here with me?
I have to remind myself of our conversations. “I won’t care I’ll be dead!” He said it, tongue in cheek, but was very serious and very stubborn. When he was 17(?) We took a family road trip, I can’t remember why we took two cars, I think it was so he could get the drive time for his license; we spent several hours in the little truck just the two of us. We dared each other to answer all questions with total honesty. We got to know each other really well, we covered so many topics, and more intimately than most mother son relationships without being too weird… Or so I thought….
The sicker he got and the more time we spent together the less his joking about his Oedipus complex sounded like a joke. My own issues (I AM SPECIAL DAMNIT!) twisted that into this challenge of “could I cure my son if I had sex with him?”
Just thinking it shocked me. My head races with debate of morals, ethics, religion, fear, faith or lack of faith in miracles…
Of course I was raised being taught molestation, incest, sex in general is a sin outside of procreation…my mother was molested, I was molested, so I am pretty secure knowing I wouldn’t use love as a power play with any child. Incest is obviously horrible for the gene pool, but if intimacy is conscentual, what besides religion makes it “sinful”? If I wasn’t afraid of condemnation, would I have had intercourse with my son? I don’t think so. What if it would have saved his life?
How long will I beat myself up with that question?
Besides telling us incest is a sin, the Bible /religion, tells us the faith of a mustard seed can move a mountain; our faith can make miracles happen! Sometimes prophets were told to lay out wool, hit a rock, or just take a step in faith and miracles happened! and all who saw, believed. Being the facilitator of a miracle usually came with a lot of judgement, persecution from sceptics. So my fucked up head keeps trying to let go of this notion that if I had done the unthinkable, had sex with my son – as he so desired, a miracle would happen and his cancer would vanish and he’d be here for me…
Selfish. Delusional and selfish that’s all I can think of myself, but I like to throw in faithless coward for the other side of the arguement.