Couldn’t sleep last night so spent the early hours of the morning talking to the Womb-Fruit who also couldn’t sleep. Amid our usual talk of stuff and nonsense, he admitted that sometimes, when he hears me crying, he often thinks about me and my “situation.” I asked what he thought about and he answered “you before and you now…but the thought doesn’t last for long.” That kinda ripped at my heart a little.
I can’t imagine how a kid with Aspergers, can even begin to process how his once able and fun-loving mum could turn into…well, me, or how his life, which had once been that of a carefree child, was now one where he was responsible for the well-being of the woman who gave him that life in the first place.
As usual, guilt reared it’s ugly head and I wanted to apologise for being the parent that I was. In my darkest days, I feel an overwhelming sense of regret that he was ever saddled with a mum like me, because in my eyes, he deserves so much more than I can ever give him. Instead, I asked why the thoughts were so fleeting. Was it because the memories of life before were too painful, or was it a case of there’s nothing that can be done to change things so why keep thinking about it? He replied that it was both.
The thing is we’ve never really spoken about when I became ill and how life has changed significantly for the both of us, so this morning was a first. I told him that my tears had nothing to do with him, that just every now and then, the reality of what life has become suddenly hits.
We then talked about all the things that we used to do and the things that we wish we could still do, and lamented the things that we would never do. But where I have a dwindling hope that things will one day change, he was full of optimism that it could yet still happen. I had to tell him how proud I was of him and that I was glad that he had found new friends at college and was finally getting out more and living the life of a young adult. I hated the need he had to stay by my side in case anything happened, although he always protested that it was something that he wanted to do.
He’s out tomorrow with friends and again over the weekend with his dad, but not before assuring me that he will cook enough food for the two days to ensure that I won’t have to do anything. How can I not be proud of such a thoughtful and caring young man? A 16 year old who since the age of 7 when he took on the role of carer, has been my saviour, my strength and my reason to continue to carry on. In that respect, I count myself one of the luckiest women alive.