Last night, my youngest son was very ill, vomiting through the night. Exhausted, I was there for him with a cuddle, a drink, an attempt at food. He was a brave boy and we acted as a wonderful team of two. A night of little sleep but lots of love.
It reminded me of those early days when you have a new baby and you are often walking in a trance Zombie-like and yet still caring for your little one.
My son is now fine having worked through what was obviously just a yucky tummy bug.
If only all pains could be taken away as easily.
I can’t take away your pain. I find it hard to pinpoint what you think and/or feel about the situation. I know you are hurt. I know you feel guilt yet I swear down you were not the real guilty party. If I push you, you clam up or get angry. You flee with tears in your eyes. They say your experience is very similar to grief. I don’t know. I just know your feelings about the most important issue are masked, hidden, unknown even by those who love you most. You have said one day you will write about it to help others you say and perhaps, to make sense of it all yourself. You won’t speak of it or seek help to your detriment and to that of the other victims/survivors.
As for you, sweet girl, sometimes I want you to make it all easy for us/me which is so unfair because you are one of the main victims in all this. I have always had a weak tendency to run away from the harsher sides of life, pretending they don’t exist. Ice-cream sundaes don’t always sort out life’s hurts especially the big ones. I am an idiot. Your were wronged, deeply wronged. I too carry guilt at not getting things right. Saying I tried my best is not enough. I didn’t heal the wound. I was arrogant to think I could.
There are other victims/survivors those who spoke out, those who pretended things weren’t happening and those who tried to end it all and their life with it and perhaps the ripple effect will continue down the generations. There is love. That much I know.
Ill-equipped as I am, I am in it for the long haul.