My boy's in a battle, a battle within himself. It has raged for years. I've always blamed myself because I know that I could be a better mama. As his body has grown so have his fears, to the point where he's nearly paralyzed by the unknown. And here we are, Wayne and I, hanging on for all our might, five kids to raise, work to be done, bills to pay (or not to pay) and this brilliant star that fades a little more everyday. In the heat of battle (temper tantrums), I wish for relief.....just a minute of peace....just one minute of peace. I forget in those moments just how much I love this precious boy.
These past few days have left me feeling beaten and battered. I'm guilty of being guilty. Last night as I sobbed in desperation, Wayne showed me a picture of "the big kids" playing in the bath tub when they were babies. Our dreams for them back then were limitless...we saw greatness in everything they did. Where did we veer off course? When did that cute chubby face get clouded by worry? Have I shackled my child with my own shortcomings?
This is my life at the moment. Praying that tomorrow isn't another white knuckle day.