Holding On While Letting GoBy Erin O’Loughlin

© 2015 by Erin O’Loughlin. All rights reserved

We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the life that is waiting for us. ~Joseph Campbell.

It finally happened. I knew it would some day, so I guess it’s relieving to finally get it behind me. The police became involved. I was home alone with Marcus while the rest of my family was out of the country visiting a sick relative, the red haze came down over his eyes, and I was his prime target. It certainly wasn’t the first time this has happened, but after an unplanned week of no school due to snow, and not being able to get out of the house, my defenses were wiped out, shattered, done. I dropped to my knees, exhausted on so many levels, cowering on the floor with my hands over my head, while my own son attacked me over and over. The frenzied adrenaline rush that goes through his body when he is in these moments is something indescribable, and I honestly think he could move a truck, so I was an easy target. My cell phone was in my pocket, and I managed to dial the 3 digits that I knew would bring me the help I needed... but it was an agonizing phone call to make.

Abusive relationships. We have all heard of them, have possibly even helped a friend escape one. But these abusive relationships we often hear about, they are usually husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, significant others who possibly loved each other appropriately at one point or another... and then eventually became objects of affection mixed in with a sick dose of power. These relationships are not and should not stem from unconditional love. And if the abused party is really lucky, they get to escape and move forward with their lives, although forever changed. But this relationship of which I speak. This relationship of mine. I don’t know how to categorize it. A mother should love her son unconditionally. I love my son unconditionally. I cannot escape my son, nor can I divorce him or walk out the door with my bags in my hand, seeking a different and better life. Marcus is my son. I am his mother. I am connected and bound forever, whether I like it or not. And yet, the feeling certainly is not mutual. Yes, I have heard it - he loves me in his own way. But does he? Does he know the emotion of love? I don’t know. Say what you want about the beautiful sides of autism, but the simple fact is that often times it strips away social filters, it strips away the ability to put oneself in another’s shoes, it strips away the ability to interpret - and care - what others are feeling and thinking. And all of that leaves me feeling very empty inside when it’s my own son.

Marcus is back in the acute crisis center that he was in back in September. It took a police report and a tearful call into his psychiatrist to pull some strings. If we’re lucky, he’ll get a month there, and then he’ll come back home until a spot opens up on the waiting list at the long-term facility. So each time I am forced to lose my son over and over again. The son I never really had, if I were to be honest with myself. I love Marcus, but I resent him too. I resent him for leaving me with 2 children instead of 3. I resent that we get him out of the house for awhile, our family starts to heal in an oh-so-bittersweet way, we patch the holes in the walls, repair the broken glass, only for him to come back for an indeterminate time to wreck our life again. I just don’t see an end to this cycle. I resent that I have given up my entire life and many of my dreams for him, as any mother would do for their child, and yet he will never really know this. It’s the ultimate altruistic act. The irony is that I have never believed in altruism... humans are, by nature, selfish. But there is certainly nothing in this relationship for me, is there? I continue to be abused physically and emotionally over and over again. So why do I hold on? I already know the answer... for the rest of my family. My husband, my other two children. And there lies the selfishness behind my costumed altruism. I need the rest of my family in order to carry on and let go. I stay, so that I don’t lose. Perhaps in some twisted way, Marcus’s presence in our lives has been the glue that has held us together as we cling on to one another in the ocean of this violent storm. Perhaps if it weren’t for Marcus, something else, something insignificant and petty - or something else just as turbulent - would have ripped us apart.

But still, my gut tells me that this isn’t the only reason I stay and hold on. I’m starting to realize that yes, altruism does exist, and that it exists between a parent and a child. How do I know this? Because in a perfect world, we would be able to provide Marcus what he needs in our home. In a perfect world, we his parents would be able to make him happy at home with us. But I know, deep within my soul, that this is not possible anymore. And because I want nothing more than happiness for my children, no matter what price I must pay, I am letting go. To summarize Joseph Campbell’s words, I am letting go of the life I once envisioned, so that my son can find happiness in a new environment. And so that the rest of us can accept the life that is waiting for us.

So, for now, I think my focus needs to be on forgiveness and letting go of the resentment... and finally, truly letting go of the ghost of the child I never actually had. Yes, I am a victim of abuse, I can say it. My body is bruised, cut and bloodied. But I cannot play the victim or it will lead me to despair. Skin will heal. It’s the internal wounds that are going to take the most time to heal and scar over. But it’s no one’s fault. And so I forgive my son. I forgive myself. Time... The healing hands of time will allow me the act of letting go what needs to be released, while holding on to what needs to be cherished. We will get through this.