Today is my oldest son's birthday. He left eleven years ago, and today he is forty years old.
I miss him, his smile, his sense of humour, his spontaneity. He was a wonderful human being; kind, loving, empathic. He, like I, have ADHD that is off the charts. When we were growing up together, and yes, I have always phrased it that way because we did grow up together. I was a young mom; had three under three by the time I was twenty-four.
In our family my youngest has Autism, and I suspect my husband does as well. My daughter and her son have ADHD. And then there were Adam and myself. When the kids were teens it was extremely tense in the house. My husband and son had difficulty understanding Adam, his lack of being able to read other people and realize the joke was leaving a mark.
My husband became a changed man. When three children, one of whom he found challenging, were going through puberty it became an overwhelming situation. I tried to run interference between my husband and son, translating each other's coded script to each of them. Sometimes it worked, most of the time it didn't.
I became an emotional wreck worrying about all of us and if we were going to survive the chaos, anger, resentment and fatigue. I never in a million years thought this would be our family. Both my spouse and myself grew up in families that did not care about our well-being or having positive parental figures that unconditionally loved us, that supported us, or even talked to us. Gen X: The invisible Generation.
Growing up for us was so different. We went out at sunup and returned at night. No one cared where we were or worried about our safety. We grew up as feral beings learning how to survive the world. We got into fights we had to resolve ourselves. We arrived home to an empty house. We fed ourselves, if there was food as in my husband's case. No one helped us with homework, or life in general. There was no such thing as feelings. We did not have any. Our only job was to be quiet or be gone. We had living rooms we were not allowed to be in, we had no say in any decision, including ones that impacted us. We were told and expected to accept it without emotion. I remember in my house the only feeling I was allowed was happiness; no anger, no sadness, no grief, no sorrow. I had to have that smile plastered on my face every single day regardless of what was happening under our roof.
When my husband and I were first married we both were emphatic our children's lives would be different. We would listen to them. We would talk about their emotions and teach them how to regulate them. We would love them unconditionally and let them know regardless of their mistakes, that did not become their identity. We had dinners together as a family and talked about our day. Sundays were a special day. We celebrated and ate, talked and laughed. We were open and honest with our children when they had questions about anything. They knew we would keep them safe in any situation. And we showed them with real-world issues.
It all changed in their teens. The two oldest made bad, life changing decisions. Adam started hanging around peers that did not have the same values as we did. His best friend was an alcoholic at fourteen, and lived with an absentee, alcoholic parent. Overnight, those were his guides, not us. We lost him bit-by-bit until he stopped coming home. Then he was living with drug dealers. He never turned to drugs for which I am grateful, but alcohol became his demon.
He still came home once in a while. He got married to a wonderful, but troubled girl, who experienced a horrific childhood. Her demons became too great for Adam to deal with and they divorced. In the meantime, he started coming home for Sunday dinners again. He found solid employment, and he seemed together. A few years later he married again. She was different from his first wife. She controlled every aspect of his being, including if he could see his family. At the same time, I was recovering from two ruptured brain aneurysm's and she did not have tolerance for my needs. I always knew she was jealous of the relationship Adam and I shared. In the beginning of their relationship there were issues with him visiting his sister. I walked on eggshells around her because I knew if it were a choice, I would lose, even though he loved me so much, it hurt. Adam had always been a follower. I think that's what led to his downfall at thirteen.
My health became my priority. It had to be. Brain surgery is a big deal. It left a lot of damage, not only to me physically, but to my relationship with Adam and his wife. We were still speaking and texting until that day when he called and screamed at me that he did not care. He had never raised his voice to me, and I was devastated. That was the last communication we had. He changed his phone number. I do not know where he lives, if he is still married, if he has children. If he is happy...if he thinks of me.
Adam, today you are forty. This is a milestone birthday because forty is when you start thinking differently. You become more introspective and take an inventory of your life; what you have created, who you've become, and what you want your legacy to become. Life is a series of choices and each one has a different path, a different outcome, and a different story. Our story was cut off too short. I have so many regrets, and things I wish I had done differntly. But I know the outcome would still be the same. You are in my heart. You are an Adam-shaped piece missing in my soul. I will always love you as much as I always have. Things will never be the same, and yet I still have hope. Because that is life.
