Momma Love

I have a broken heart.

Tonight was supposed to be our annual pumpkin carving event and my son can't come. This latest in his series of choices to not be with me has effectively destroyed my hope. 

This last year has been a long journey. Though I wrote about all of it, I'm not done posting, so there are gaps in my story. I will close those gaps by the end of the year. And then I'm closing the book on the events and the emotional and physical pain of the last year. It's time. 

The one thing that won't ever stop hurting is the loss of my son - the boy who shared my love of fiction and corny tv shows, who has my affinity for people and relationship, and who loves like I do, with a heart fantastically generous. 

He has made the decision to stay out of my life until I achieve some unmeasurable and undefined standard of wellness. Meanwhile he is surrounded by people to whom I will always be the worst of what I was.  There is an element of injustice that I cannot wrap my mind around. 

And so I surrender. 

There is an ache in my heart constantly for the massive loss of the boy who is such a beautiful spirit. Some days the grief is so intense, it stops me in my tracks and I have to catch my breath. 

I don't miss my husband. I don't miss my friend. I don't miss my dad. I don't miss my career. I don't miss my friends. I don't miss alcohol. But my boy? 

Imagine the loss of a piece of yourself and then imagine that it was your own actions and choices that caused the loss. 

Yeah. I did that. 

I'm proud of my boy though. He was hurt by things I said and did. I can't take those things back or make the hurt go away. My mother's heart is broken for his pain. And because I taught him about being strong and confident and about boundaries, he was able to draw one with me and stand firm. I believe his actions are about making the healthiest decision for himself and about holding me to a standard of good behavior. Accountability is a good thing. 

But. Man. The aching grind of the grief on my heart and in my spirit never relents. 

The grief is just so painfully profound. 

So. There it is. 

"I am" says Jesus, "I am the peace the world cannot give."

There is peace in managing this pain without trying to banish it by abusing alcohol or using some other method of escape. 

There is peace in the love and nurturing of the people who knew me at my worst and love me anyway, and trust in their constant belief that the best is yet to come in my life.

There is peace in knowing that I did nothing to deserve the gift of grace in my life and there's nothing I need to do to keep it. 

There is peace in knowing that the very grace that sustains me every day can work in my boy's heart too, and that I will love him and wrap my arms around him when he comes, and I will do it without recrimination or shaming but with perfect joy. 

There is peace in knowing that I love unconditionally. 

Thank God. 

Peace, 

Kari