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Hope is the worst of evils
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<blockquote data-quote="Childofmine" data-source="post: 636234" data-attributes="member: 17542"><p>Ah Try. You are asking such a valuable question, about hope. </p><p></p><p>What is hope?</p><p>What is trust?</p><p>What is expectation?</p><p>What is respect?</p><p>What is dignity? </p><p>What is acceptance?</p><p>What is detachment?</p><p>What does it mean to love and keep on loving?</p><p>What does it mean to be fully human?</p><p>What does it mean to live with pain such as this?</p><p>What does it mean to experience joy when our precious child is so sick, so bereft, so off-the-rails? </p><p></p><p>I don't know the answers to these questions.</p><p></p><p>I think the bare truth of it is something like this---we are all mixed up inside with all of it---the love, the grief, the hope, the fear, the acceptance.</p><p></p><p>I believe acceptance is the place I am trying to get to. I see it down the road, far away, true acceptance. I am moving slowly toward it. This is about me, and not about him. And along the way, I am learning to accept other people as they are, loving them even though they can be so unkind, so careless, so ugly in their judgment and behavior sometimes. Like I am. Like we all are. </p><p></p><p>People have a right to be whoever they want to be, and then, to take the consequences of those choices. That is what being free means. </p><p></p><p>Some learn through natural consequences and it takes all of their lives, if ever. I sometimes cannot fathom the depths to which my son will go, with this. He absolutely will do it his way and go down with the ship. </p><p></p><p>Over the years---about 11 years---since he entered junior high school, I am slowly accepting this fact about him. </p><p></p><p>My sister said it: He absolutely does everything the hardest possible way with the most resistance. </p><p></p><p>But, Try, I still have hope. It is carefully measured, tamped down, guarded. </p><p></p><p>Because it can wipe me out---full-on hope. I cannot allow it to take control of me. But it is still there, like a tiny flicker of light. It never burns out. I am glad I have it, I think it keeps me human. I don't want my heart to be hard. A little tougher, yes. But not a hard cold rock. </p><p></p><p>When I see my son, today, he is a terrifying, life-filled mass of contradictions. He can do the hardest things---work every day, show up and do a good job, by all measures, even though he has no car, no home, no regular food, basically nothing but a backpack. He sleeps outside, on the ground, rolled up in a blanket. He gets up at 3:30 a.m. and rides a bike in the chilly morning dark to his job at 5 a.m. They now have him training other people. They have mentioned a management training program. </p><p></p><p>What do we make of this? It is bewildering.</p><p></p><p>He is a child, still. I can see it in his conversation, how his mind thinks, his decisions. He lives in today. He thinks little about what is next and how his actions today will affect what is next.</p><p></p><p>He is heartbreakingly simple in his daily desires. A shower, $20, his girlfriend (a train wreck herself).</p><p></p><p>What can we make of this stuff? I can't make anything of it. But he has a right to it, and living life on his own terms, and then taking the consequences of all of that---whether it be injury, jail, homelessness, further alienation from other people, even death. </p><p></p><p>I cannot stop him or redirect him. I can love him and accept him. That is truly all I can do. </p><p></p><p>So much of this is about me, about accepting that life is about equal measures, or chances, to experience abundant joy and deep pain. </p><p></p><p>What will I choose? It's up to me. </p><p></p><p>Warm hugs for your hurting and so very tired heart. We are here with you. Choose life and joy today, if you can, Try. It is there waiting for you.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Childofmine, post: 636234, member: 17542"] Ah Try. You are asking such a valuable question, about hope. What is hope? What is trust? What is expectation? What is respect? What is dignity? What is acceptance? What is detachment? What does it mean to love and keep on loving? What does it mean to be fully human? What does it mean to live with pain such as this? What does it mean to experience joy when our precious child is so sick, so bereft, so off-the-rails? I don't know the answers to these questions. I think the bare truth of it is something like this---we are all mixed up inside with all of it---the love, the grief, the hope, the fear, the acceptance. I believe acceptance is the place I am trying to get to. I see it down the road, far away, true acceptance. I am moving slowly toward it. This is about me, and not about him. And along the way, I am learning to accept other people as they are, loving them even though they can be so unkind, so careless, so ugly in their judgment and behavior sometimes. Like I am. Like we all are. People have a right to be whoever they want to be, and then, to take the consequences of those choices. That is what being free means. Some learn through natural consequences and it takes all of their lives, if ever. I sometimes cannot fathom the depths to which my son will go, with this. He absolutely will do it his way and go down with the ship. Over the years---about 11 years---since he entered junior high school, I am slowly accepting this fact about him. My sister said it: He absolutely does everything the hardest possible way with the most resistance. But, Try, I still have hope. It is carefully measured, tamped down, guarded. Because it can wipe me out---full-on hope. I cannot allow it to take control of me. But it is still there, like a tiny flicker of light. It never burns out. I am glad I have it, I think it keeps me human. I don't want my heart to be hard. A little tougher, yes. But not a hard cold rock. When I see my son, today, he is a terrifying, life-filled mass of contradictions. He can do the hardest things---work every day, show up and do a good job, by all measures, even though he has no car, no home, no regular food, basically nothing but a backpack. He sleeps outside, on the ground, rolled up in a blanket. He gets up at 3:30 a.m. and rides a bike in the chilly morning dark to his job at 5 a.m. They now have him training other people. They have mentioned a management training program. What do we make of this? It is bewildering. He is a child, still. I can see it in his conversation, how his mind thinks, his decisions. He lives in today. He thinks little about what is next and how his actions today will affect what is next. He is heartbreakingly simple in his daily desires. A shower, $20, his girlfriend (a train wreck herself). What can we make of this stuff? I can't make anything of it. But he has a right to it, and living life on his own terms, and then taking the consequences of all of that---whether it be injury, jail, homelessness, further alienation from other people, even death. I cannot stop him or redirect him. I can love him and accept him. That is truly all I can do. So much of this is about me, about accepting that life is about equal measures, or chances, to experience abundant joy and deep pain. What will I choose? It's up to me. Warm hugs for your hurting and so very tired heart. We are here with you. Choose life and joy today, if you can, Try. It is there waiting for you. [/QUOTE]
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