All week I’ve been thinking about my kids a little more than usual. They are scattered all over the globe right now, here and abroad. Each are working to find themselves and their place in the world. As are we all no matter our age.
I’m sure I’m in the same boat with most parents in that we love our children, but not always their choices. But, in the end we’ll be there while they work things out, sometimes needing to stand on the sidelines during those times when they must clean up their on mess, and sometimes listening and offering advice when asked.
In full transparency, I love my kids and worry about them a lot, but I do not miss living with them one iota. They were a tough lot to live with during the valley’s of emotion, and sometimes those valley’s were very deep and very wide. The hubby and I had to make some very tough decisions and choices that hurt us to the core, and were necessary in the context of those events.
One of my kids was not in their best place this past Saturday. After attending a party, let’s just say they were more than excessive in partaking of what was offered at the party. Ego seems to have gotten in the way, along with competitiveness. Suffice it to say, our child was dropped off at our house as they needed help in making it through the consequences of decisions they had made.
It was somewhat comforting to know the safest place in their mind was home where they knew we would take care of them. What this ended up meaning was a trip to the emergency room (no worries as they are fine, just needed a bit of hydration). I’m not sure anyone has ever said a a trip to the ER is a fun and happy time. This time was no different. I do want to say though the staff that night at the ER have the patience of Job because my child was not on their best behavior. They were, in fact, quite offensive.
While waiting in the lobby, and then again in the room, my child did express gratitude for helping in the situation. They too kept apologizing for embarrassing me for the state they were in. For me, it wasn’t their state that was embarrassing—I have experience with this state as my dad did the same thing often during my growing up years. So sadly, in a way, I’m used to this type of situation.
I was embarrassed though. Not for the situation, but for the language, the unkind and stereotypical slurs they were proclaiming loudly. The embarrassment was a fear the people in the lobby, even though we sat far from others because I know how my child can be, would think this was how we had raised them. That we had instilled these ugly beliefs within our child. These were not the thoughts and beliefs of my hubby and I. Far from it, but I know how people believe the apple and the tree as I can be guilty of that thinking myself. I very much wanted to hurry and get into a room so their comments would only fall on my ears.
Once we were in a room, what was being said did lessen. It did not go away though as some comments were made to the staff and the doctor. The urge to defend myself was very high, but all I did was work to rein my child in. Nothing I would say would change any thoughts the staff and doctor were having. Making a pretty good assumption, I’m fairly certain I was being judged for the words of my child, which I must admit hurt and brought deep sadness. Hurt I would be blamed for the words and actions of my child, and sadness that no matter how we had tried to instill compassion, empathy, and appreciation for the uniqueness of all people it seems to have fallen on deaf ears. We talked about and modeled all people are equal regardless of color, of gender, of social status, and such, but yet here we were.
In the end, the most important thing at that moment, was helping my child be physically well. That goal was accomplished. The hubby and I had switched out around the four hour mark. He was with our child when they were discharged and made sure they got home safely. The next day, Father’s Day, we checked in with our child to see how they were doing. We didn’t get a quick response, but when we did, they were doing okay, which is what I, and I’m sure the hubby, wanted to hear.
As I’ve reflected this week on the unexpected turn of events last Saturday, one thread has remained. I miss my children.
This doesn’t mean I ever want to live with them again, and in reality I wouldn’t want to see them everyday as I’m a loner and mostly prefer being by myself. That said it would be nice to have dinner once a week with them—I’ve always had a fantasy of Sunday dinner being a tradition for our family with all the kids and grandkids coming over while grandpa (sometimes grandpas) made great food and desserts. Of spending Thanksgiving and Christmas together carrying on the traditions we had created as a family during their growing up years. All of us would sit around the table or out on the patio, laughing about old times, sometimes apologizing for some old mishap, sharing what is happening in our lives, and creating new good memories to help offset the painful memories of the past.
Sitting in the ER with my child, even with all the above occurring, it felt good to just be with them. Caring for them, soothing them, chastising them, but mainly being with them making sure they were safe.
Maybe someday in the near future, when the hurts of the past lessen, when maturity and accountability increase, when all of us as a unit fully realize how much we do truly care and love one another, the fantasy might happen. I can always hope and be ready for that time.
Until then, I will worry about my children from afar, work to heal my own wounds, reflect upon the past and what might shift for the future, love them with all my heart, and miss them until they reflect and contemplate, until they are ready, and until they want the dinners and holidays to be joyful and happy times as a family. Until then…
Personal Reflections of a Middle-Aged Man 