-Mum?
-Yes?
-You've got to come and pick me up. Emma's ex is threatening
to come and beat me up. Please hurry!
I look at the clock. 3:47 am.
My heart is almost beating its way out of my chest.
The head is spinning, my knees buckling, and I feel as if
I'm going to pass out.
I run to the toilet and throw up.
I gotta go, I gotta go, I gotto save my son, I tell myself
as I fumble about trying to find some clothes to put on.
My legs are so weak I can barely manage to get my jeans on.
I throw on a hoodie, some shoes and head downstairs.
I feel sick again but I tell myself to get a grip. I gulp
a glass of water, grab the car keys and hop in my car.
Phew!! It starts. The townhouse complex is silent and dark
as I pass through the front gate and head for the motorway.
I'm speeding but the drive to my son's place is over an hour
away and I am fearing for my boy's life.
I'll risk a ticket.
The motorway is virtually empty except for the odd truck
here and there. I feel like I am sitting in a space capsule
hurtling through the dark on a fearful and dangerous
rescue mission.
Please let me get there in time, I keep repeating to myself
over and over as kilometer after kilometer fly by.
I am still hyperventilating, my heart is still racing,
but as I am getting closer and closer I can feel my
mind starting to organize itself into combat mode.
You can do this, whatever it is, you can do this,
it tells me.
Finally, I see the city lights.
My breathing has slowed down, my heart rate has
almost normalized and I feel ready for battle.
I pull up in front of my son's place and run up the stairs.
The front door is open. I walk in.
Son, I'm here, let's go, I call out.
My son emerges from the back of the house looking
disheveled, upset and reeking of booze.
He hands me some bags, a pillow, and tells me to
put them in the car.
I throw the stuff in the back of the car and wait for
him to join me.
What seems like an eternity pass before he finally joins
me and we can head off.
Neither one of us says a word.
My mind is full of questions but I say nothing. I just
concentrate on driving. When we hit the motorway
ten minutes later I steal a glimpse of my son
and I realize that he has fallen asleep.
I let out a heavy sigh.
Safe. He is safe. He is with me.
Whatever happened can be dealt with tomorrow.
With my precious, precious, cargo now on board,
I focus all my attention on driving and calming my mind.
*
*
The first time I had to do an emergency dash was when
my son had his first severe asthma attack at barely one year
old.
Since then I have done many, many, many......more.
And for many different reasons.
I count myself fortunate that we have this close emotional bond/
relationship my son and I. Knowing that he feels that I always have
his back no matter what is nice, but it can be a very steep and at
times quite heavy ''path'' to walk.
Some years ago somebody came up with the term
''Tough Love''. Many parents with ''difficult children''
were encouraged to practice it. (Me included)
Considering it, I decided to do some
research into what tough love meant.
''Tough love is the act of treating someone harshly/sternly
with the intent to help him/her in the long run.''
Hmm......harshly as in? Sternly as in...? Intent as in....according
to whom? Help as in...according to what definition thereof?
My conclusion on tough love is that ''tough'' boundaries,
as in having firm and fair boundaries can often be helpful
for good/healthy relationships.
''Difficult'' children or adults, are difficult for a reason.
Focusing on the reason behind a difficult behaviour
rather than the behaviour itself I have found to prove to be
most helpful in the long run.
It can be easy to assume that some boundaries are obvious,
self-evident even, but in my experience they seldom are.
Boundaries need to be communicated clearly and precisely,
without blame or inferences.
Showing respect and consideration for different opinions,
perspectives and emotions.
(As years have gone by I have realized that I have not always
been clear with my son about some of my boundaries.
However, rectifying and clarifying them as they pop up is proving
to be very helpful.)
Tough love?
Why not? if with ''tough'' we mean unbreakable,
resilient, and indestructible.
My son
Since the birth of my son
there has not been one moment
when I have not been
conscious of him.
Not one moment when I have
not loved him.
Not one moment when I have
not been willing to slay villains
real or imaginary.
Not one moment when I have
not been ready to lift him up
when he's been down.
Not one moment when I have
not fought beside him,
with him or for him.
(Citizen Z)
about the image: graphite on cardboard
my son at 17 years old.
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