Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Longing

Driving down the street I almost pass by the boys on their bikes without a second glance. But I notice them - goofing off, treats from the store in one hand, pretending to run each other off the sidewalk. Their tanned skin and bruised legs tell stories about their adventurous summer.

I realize I have been sitting at the stop sign moments too long - it has hit me. These almost adolescent boys enjoying a long summer day of freedom - they are boys in my sons grade at school. He started Junior Kindergarten with all of them - when they were all on equal footing. Now they are worlds apart from my son in so many ways. My heart hurts for the things my son cannot do and tears threaten to spill down my face.

I glance at my son who is sitting in the passenger seat beside me. Has he noticed them? Does he long to be free like they are? He gives a little wave to them as we drive by. There is my answer and I find myself wishing in some ways that he was less aware, for his sake. As we leave them behind he leans his head against the glass and closes his eyes.

He is all too aware of the differences, his longing is strong even if it is not voiced. I hold back tears but I reach over and take his hand. He squeezes it and I wish I knew what to say to make it better. But I know nothing I say would take away the pain of his longing and his feelings of loss. There are no words.

4 comments:

  1. Your post made me cry. Like sob. Because as you saw from my blog I'm having one of those days.

    I had the same feeling this morning and almost blogged about THAT. I'll save it for a different day. But watching the kids at the bus stop this morning. The kids in the same grade and a grade younger than my son. Watching them play- be normal. Joke around. Knowing they wouldn't cross the line to inappropriate and their mothers don't have to watch them like a hawk. Knowing they can play together after school. Ride bikes. Play basketball.
    Stuff my son can't do because he can't handle it.
    And it's not fair.

    So I'm virtually hugging you right now, and I'm
    crying the tears you held back.

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  2. I know this. Feel it deep inside where it hurts more often than I care to admit. And like your son, my son is aware. He knows what he isn't, what he can't do, what he doesn't have. It's heartbreaking. So in these moments I try to remember what he is. Remind him of all he CAN do. And hope that one day none of this will matter.

    That you reached for your son's hand, and he held your hand back--that says more than words ever could.

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  3. Thanks ladies. I try not to dwell too much on these things but sometimes it just hurts too hard and too deep to ignore. We'll fine our way and I know he will carve out his own life in his own way. Your support and empathy is much appreciated

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  4. I so often feel the same way. I mean to comment yesterday because we were having the same kind of day it seemed, but time slipped away and so I am here now instead. It is amazing how similar our lives our and yet so very different.

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