Two last pieces to the puzzle.
- My son’s porn habit
- .my loss of my son
Going back to the Danny Goke song (sorry Mr. Goke), “Tell your heart to beat again,” I was plaing it over in my mind this morning. I was thinking yesterday, “if only I’d had this viewpoint, this knowledge, this perspective (faith) when I was 24, and after the Dove, (faith) oh how things would have been different. Compassion. Love. So, although I am a little slow on the uptake (for years I just wasn’t getting it about the porn, I knew it was going on, my Hutton card had to call once to tell me about charges on the card, it didn’t feel as embarrassing to me as it probably should have, though I did my best to be correct); although I am a little slow on the uptake, I finally realized to apply the Danny Goke song to my present situation, my relationship with my son.
Oh the heartbreak. “Shattered, like you’ve never been before.” Oh desperation, oh woe, am passionate about this beautiful little baby but I can’t take care of him right, I am so deep in exhaustion and depression, for one thing I can’t breastfeed, and it was so important to me when I was carrying him that I was able to rely on my own body to do it right. And my father has a stroke, and then my mother is responsible, without supervision, without guidance. Over and over through the years, she takes him from me, and does I don’t know what to care for him in her own fragile state, and then they went broke.
Hatred sets in. But my son seems to prefer her to me and I can’t fight on it. She is well, able, healthy, I am a cigarette-smoking mess, in tears inside, still trying to learn to cook for him. So I guess I finally lost him. Now to drugs. And porn. And even now, my mother, and the stand-in for my father who we have today. Every day is a busy court day or medical day for him, or a P.O. day or a drug-testing day. I have to be grateful to my mother because she is handling ALL of it, which I resented but her running away with him through my incapacity at times, has become state of the art. So I’ve lost him. And the Danny Goke song applies. It does. I’ve been with this all morning, as my son sleeps through noon-time, after being up all night with my computer. (In bed.) But I haven’t. I know I haven’t. That’s the puzzle and it goes back to, YES! a CAT!
Tigger, the one who hit the road on the near side of the property when I was journeying back from California to Buffalo to have my son and was completely oblivious. My mother finally said something, “I didn’t want to tell you..” (she remembered how hard I was hit when Dorian, the all-gray one, died on the back road.) But I didn’t have time to think about it. I was trying to take care of my son, a human being, a very dear one.
It is entirely possible that my mother’s dwelling on this was responsible for the bizarre events that followed after bringing my son home to the apartment in Buffalo, when my mother called 5 times in a row (just to hear the phone ring) while I was trying to get him to sleep for a nap. I felt a weird, slow panic after that, strange feelings of being pulled South, and then, the hospitalization in Maryland. And then, our move to Maryland, and my crack-up there, which felt like the end (but no, suffering, teasing pain, heart-ache, heart-break, were still to follow.)
I have to admit that I do understand my son’s porn habit, I don’t like it and I fear where it will lead. But it reflects some things about fantasies my husband and I indulged ourselves in…which all stopped when he was born. All I ever told him was that I couldn’t have sex, and it was true (ever the little girl with the broken vagina), and he was confused by this. (“Where do babies come from, Mom?”)
to be continues