My firstborn was five months, in my belly, when my mother died suddenly of a heart attack. There is no grief like a daughter loosing a mother. My son experienced every emotion and thought, in utero, I did. Even though I tried to follow advice to stay calm during my grieving to protect him, I believe the tension of holding immense.emotion at bay, intensified his experience of them. Through my sadness and grief, my son and I are bonded. He especially knows me.
Yesterday, I had a horrible day. An unrelated man verbally abused me. I mean I took a lashing before I realized I was being violated and kicked him out. But this is not about him, his abuse or my position. But rather my response to violation and how it effected my children.
My children did not witness what happened. I spent most of the day, researching my rights, texting friends for support and crying… and I have not cried for years! The last time I cried was when a girl sent me a barrage of harassing texts of racial slurs. Maybe it was the same kind of hurt. When my children came home, I tightened up and tried to do what we normally do.
After 10 minutes being home, my son started to act out. He kept yelling at his sister. He complained of headache and stomach ache. Throughout the evening, he came to me with random worries about his book report, about not being able to become an astronaut because he will be too tall to fit the spacesuit. He kept asking me to smile with this hurt in him, this helplessness and held back tears in his eyes. I would smile, believe you me I plastered a smile, he would say, “not like that”. I understood he wanted to feel my smile. I struggled to raise my vibration and hide my true feelings from him, while offering him support and reassurance. He could feel me.
At bedtime, he kept coming to me. He said, “what am I going to do when you die?” Loss. My son knows it. He knows grief and when I am utterly wounded, I cannot mask it for him. He has gone through his own pain from times we were separated. Loss. Fear of loosing self. Fear of loosing mother.
I had to get honest with my son. The reassuring words I spewed all day couldn’t uplift the weight he felt in me, that terrorized him. I explained calmly. I told him I had a bad day, my feelings were hurt by someone, and I have to feel what I feel and that is okay. Tomorrow is a new day, I will feel better I told him. I have to feel, I told him, and I told him it is okay to feel what he feels. Tomorrow is a new day, he will feel better eventually. And because we feel bad, because you know how I feel, doesn’t mean I am going to die, or leave.
Mercy is what I pray for tonight. Mercy. And praises. Many praises for my children in my life. My son felt me. And his relating to me on such an intuitive deep way, helped me. I felt God’s love through him. I hope I taught him something, I hope I helped him too. I realize how deeply my experiences are shaping the emotional bodies of my children whether I try to protect them or not. They are experiencing me, fully.