In the last few weeks, things have been crazy for me. My husband left for training and won’t be back for four months, we moved, kids started new schools, plus I’m writing a book. A big book. Mark’s book. My friend and I were on the phone today, and it prompted me to want to write about it…
Life is crazy. Each one of us live through our own host of issues. Some struggle with things far beyond what I’m dealing with. No one is dying in my house. No one is sick. No one is without food, or basic needs for sustaining life. But my son is struggling, which means I’m struggling. I was around his age when I started really dealing with my first round of depression. If you know me at all, you know my father left when I was young. Nothing that probably half of you reading hasn’t experienced, but to my nine year old self, it was earth shattering.
I didn’t cope well, plus it doesn’t help that he wasn’t a model parent. My mom was doing the best she could raising two hormonal, and hostile girls. My sister and I didn’t make life easy for her, but well, we were kids trying to deal with our excess emotions. Ironically, my mom moved us to a new town in New Jersey when I was in the same grade my son is in. It’s fucking HARD to adjust in middle school. I went from being comfortable with my friends, to this tiny town in Morris County where evvvvvvverybody knew everybody. I met a friend who introduced me to her friends, but I was still “the new girl.” My son isn’t like me, though. Not in that sense. He’s quieter, a loner, not the kid that’ll talk to you because he’s pretty sure you won’t like him. (Even though IMHO he’s the best kid ever.) He’s sweet, kind, considerate (to anyone but his sister). He’ll give you his food if you’re hungry, his coat if you’re cold, but he exhibits the same signs of struggle.
The worst part, I can’t fix him.
I can’t fix him, and I don’t know how to deal with that.
As a mom, we want to hug them, protect them, give them happy and wonderful childhoods, but when the fog is so thick you can’t see the sun, what do you do?
You keep walking, hoping that eventually the rays will find you.
I wish I could assure him of that. Let him see that I’ve been there. I’ve dealt with it. My four best friends and I met at his age, and we still talk. They love their “Aunts”, but to him: “I don’t understand.” or “It’s not the same.”
And for him … he’s right.
I’m not saying if my husband was home, this would be better. I’m not even saying that if we didn’t move he wouldn’t be struggling, because we all remember that middle school SUCKS. It’s awkward, things are growing in weird places, and yuck…but I can’t help but feel like I should be able to fix this.
My daughter on the other hand, has three new best friends. They’re already FaceTiming and calling each other daily.
Then there’s me…alone. My husband is doing everything he can to be here for me, but I miss him. I miss having a partner. In two weeks, I literally packed (with a lot of help), moved, unpacked (again I have two pretty amazing friends who helped me more than I can say), wrote a lot of words, got my kids in their new school, and have our house as if we’ve lived here for a long time. Yes, I was a military wife for thirteen years, and we do this–well. Even still, I’m exhausted, worried, and under pressure.
But even with all the turmoil, stress, writing to be done, I’m so blessed.
Eventually, my kids will adapt, the words will get written, and we’ll find balance. Because really, this is how we roll. And if I can just keep pushing through the fog, I’ll see the sun again.