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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 650634" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>I had gone through a thing recently about hope being the thing that keeps us hooked. But I was wrong. Hope is the thing we still believe, with our whole hearts, could have been.</p><p></p><p>We are not fools.</p><p></p><p>We have not been cheated.</p><p></p><p>The dream was every bit as valid, for us and for our children, as whatever it was that really happened to all of us.</p><p></p><p>I am getting beyond myself, here.</p><p></p><p>It has something to do with perception, and with what is real, and with who we are.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>We are.</p><p></p><p>We refuse to accept the usual interpretations. We refuse to pretend it doesn't matter, that our children were not worth what we did, what we chose to do for them. </p><p></p><p>They were worth it.</p><p></p><p>Guilt was not worth it. Beating myself up over something so tragic ~ that was not worth it. Trying to pretend now that it doesn't matter that I lost them when it does matter ~ that's not a right thing. It does matter. I (we) saw something priceless destroyed, saw our children attracted to and attacked and eaten away by a disease (great analogy) we cannot even name.</p><p></p><p>We need to learn a different response, and we need to learn how to see ourselves and our families through the brokenness.</p><p></p><p>I don't know how to do that, either.</p><p></p><p>Darn those kids.</p><p></p><p></p><p><img src="/community/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/emoticons/hugs.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":hugs:" title="hugs :hugs:" data-shortname=":hugs:" /></p><p></p><p><img src="/community/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/Graemlins/9-07tears.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":9-07tears:" title="crying :9-07tears:" data-shortname=":9-07tears:" /></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Yep.</p><p></p><p>Maybe we need to remember that it <em>is</em> a journey.</p><p></p><p>There is time, until there is no more time.</p><p></p><p>Remember when we thought difficult child daughter had gone into organ failure? The rage, the sense of betrayal ~ all that stuff disappeared. (It's back now.)</p><p></p><p>All I wanted was to hear her laugh, and to hear her voice.</p><p></p><p>And that was enough, and none of that other stuff mattered.</p><p></p><p>That is how I know it isn't real.</p><p></p><p>When we thought it was over, none of that stuff mattered. There was not even a shadow.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>I feel this way, too. I have seen it, seen the confusion, the shock at his own behaviors, and the push through it to do the bad thing and get what he was after, what he needed. difficult child daughter is different, now. Maybe, as COM suggests, that is the disease process. There was a time when she was as hurt and confused by what she was doing, by the violence in her and the sometimes heartlessness in her, as I was.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><img src="/community/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/Graemlins/11-24a.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":angel3:" title="angel :angel3:" data-shortname=":angel3:" /></p><p></p><p><img src="/community/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/emoticons/choir.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":choir:" title="choir :choir:" data-shortname=":choir:" /></p><p></p><p>I love that you said this!!! </p><p></p><p>But here is the truth. I am working my way through the illusion of hope. Which means that I believed, all these years, that my child would pull through. That was the child I loved. That child who had not yet pulled through but whose destiny it surely was to pull through ~ I saw everything through that filter.</p><p></p><p>Now, as the disease progresses, I see that. I think it is courageous of me to look into something so black and ugly, and it scares me now, because I no longer believe this is going to be...I no longer have that sense of disbelief that these things could be happening to her and to me. I am coming to believe the disease is the disease. </p><p></p><p>I am so grateful for that concept.</p><p></p><p>I can save myself, there. I can see a way to do this.</p><p></p><p>That is my child.</p><p></p><p>I need to learn to separate the two.</p><p></p><p>I may need to learn to distance myself from her or I may lose her altogether and I have to figure out how to see this, and how to see myself in it and I don't know how to do that.</p><p></p><p>2much was right, Alby.</p><p></p><p>She has a child nearing forty, too. It is strangely wicked thing to poke around in. Young people are so beautiful, so innocent. There is such loss of potential, and there is something so clean about them that you cannot help but be in love with them with your whole heart.</p><p></p><p>It is different with a child approaching forty.</p><p></p><p>All the good, connecting things have not happened, not for years and years. The relationship is off kilter. Too much need, no growth into independence, too many desperate times when manipulation became the go to response and respect for us as parents was lost.</p><p></p><p>And respect for herself.</p><p></p><p>And our respect for her, and our envisionment of her as an adult.</p><p></p><p>I am so sorry, Alby. Ours is an ugly story. I am having to chose between so much that is harsh and yet, that is real. It is difficult to face some of what I can no longer pretend is just a glitch or a phase or a victimization or an accident.</p><p></p><p>COM's concept of a disease.</p><p></p><p>I think that is saving me.</p><p></p><p>I have to see. But I don't know how to come through it, and that is scary.</p><p></p><p>And that little tinge of disgust...that is something new, and is not who I want to be.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>We all do what we do, here. We are a self-selecting group. I liked that you said that, too. Each of us awakens questions the others of us consider at a heart level. Each of us takes her courage and her pain (and her child ~ there is not a one of us here who has turned away from her child, or who has said this is simple ~ not for long, anyway) and we are gutting our ways through it.</p><p></p><p>It's scary sometimes, to look right at it.</p><p></p><p>That little tinge of disgust....</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>And that <em>is</em> a good day, and a triumph of love.</p><p></p><p>It does feel like we are battling something bigger, more crucially important, than is believable, sometimes. </p><p></p><p>One heart at a time, one refusal to slip or blame or stop seeing clearly at a time.</p><p></p><p>Talk about your tall orders.</p><p></p><p>:O)</p><p></p><p>We are doing it, though.</p><p></p><p>I loved this thread. I am so thankful that it came up just now when it did, and that I was able to go through in just the way I did.</p><p></p><p>I am so grateful we are here, every one of us.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 650634, member: 17461"] I had gone through a thing recently about hope being the thing that keeps us hooked. But I was wrong. Hope is the thing we still believe, with our whole hearts, could have been. We are not fools. We have not been cheated. The dream was every bit as valid, for us and for our children, as whatever it was that really happened to all of us. I am getting beyond myself, here. It has something to do with perception, and with what is real, and with who we are. We are. We refuse to accept the usual interpretations. We refuse to pretend it doesn't matter, that our children were not worth what we did, what we chose to do for them. They were worth it. Guilt was not worth it. Beating myself up over something so tragic ~ that was not worth it. Trying to pretend now that it doesn't matter that I lost them when it does matter ~ that's not a right thing. It does matter. I (we) saw something priceless destroyed, saw our children attracted to and attacked and eaten away by a disease (great analogy) we cannot even name. We need to learn a different response, and we need to learn how to see ourselves and our families through the brokenness. I don't know how to do that, either. Darn those kids. :hugs: :9-07tears: Yep. Maybe we need to remember that it [I]is[/I] a journey. There is time, until there is no more time. Remember when we thought difficult child daughter had gone into organ failure? The rage, the sense of betrayal ~ all that stuff disappeared. (It's back now.) All I wanted was to hear her laugh, and to hear her voice. And that was enough, and none of that other stuff mattered. That is how I know it isn't real. When we thought it was over, none of that stuff mattered. There was not even a shadow. I feel this way, too. I have seen it, seen the confusion, the shock at his own behaviors, and the push through it to do the bad thing and get what he was after, what he needed. difficult child daughter is different, now. Maybe, as COM suggests, that is the disease process. There was a time when she was as hurt and confused by what she was doing, by the violence in her and the sometimes heartlessness in her, as I was. :angel3: :choir: I love that you said this!!! But here is the truth. I am working my way through the illusion of hope. Which means that I believed, all these years, that my child would pull through. That was the child I loved. That child who had not yet pulled through but whose destiny it surely was to pull through ~ I saw everything through that filter. Now, as the disease progresses, I see that. I think it is courageous of me to look into something so black and ugly, and it scares me now, because I no longer believe this is going to be...I no longer have that sense of disbelief that these things could be happening to her and to me. I am coming to believe the disease is the disease. I am so grateful for that concept. I can save myself, there. I can see a way to do this. That is my child. I need to learn to separate the two. I may need to learn to distance myself from her or I may lose her altogether and I have to figure out how to see this, and how to see myself in it and I don't know how to do that. 2much was right, Alby. She has a child nearing forty, too. It is strangely wicked thing to poke around in. Young people are so beautiful, so innocent. There is such loss of potential, and there is something so clean about them that you cannot help but be in love with them with your whole heart. It is different with a child approaching forty. All the good, connecting things have not happened, not for years and years. The relationship is off kilter. Too much need, no growth into independence, too many desperate times when manipulation became the go to response and respect for us as parents was lost. And respect for herself. And our respect for her, and our envisionment of her as an adult. I am so sorry, Alby. Ours is an ugly story. I am having to chose between so much that is harsh and yet, that is real. It is difficult to face some of what I can no longer pretend is just a glitch or a phase or a victimization or an accident. COM's concept of a disease. I think that is saving me. I have to see. But I don't know how to come through it, and that is scary. And that little tinge of disgust...that is something new, and is not who I want to be. *** We all do what we do, here. We are a self-selecting group. I liked that you said that, too. Each of us awakens questions the others of us consider at a heart level. Each of us takes her courage and her pain (and her child ~ there is not a one of us here who has turned away from her child, or who has said this is simple ~ not for long, anyway) and we are gutting our ways through it. It's scary sometimes, to look right at it. That little tinge of disgust.... And that [I]is[/I] a good day, and a triumph of love. It does feel like we are battling something bigger, more crucially important, than is believable, sometimes. One heart at a time, one refusal to slip or blame or stop seeing clearly at a time. Talk about your tall orders. :O) We are doing it, though. I loved this thread. I am so thankful that it came up just now when it did, and that I was able to go through in just the way I did. I am so grateful we are here, every one of us. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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