First Sister
I have two sons. One son is almost his Daddy made over. The second son is more me with some of his Daddy’s demons. He is the son after mine own heart. He also has much of my father in him. Sometimes, when I see him standing off in the distance, it is like seeing my father come back to life. But he is not me or my father made over, because my father and I would wrestle our demons to the death. I really, really hate to lose. My son lets his demons win again and again. Every once in a while, I let my guard down and think he has finally grown up and past all that, but I suspect that will never be. Recently I was talking to him about his troubles. I told him I would literally lie down and die to make things right for him. But, there is no way anyone else can do this for him. I believe the only help there is comes from within our own selves. If one cannot help ones self, there is no help to be had. I cannot go with my son on his journey, but as long as he continues to travel to the valleys, I will follow along, separately, in the shadows. This poem was written about my son with the demons. It is as current today as it was over a decade ago when I wrote it.
Absalom, Oh Absalom
Copyright © 1994 by Fleta Aday.
I have walked the halls of darkness
In the deepest valleys of despair
Where a single ray of sunshine
Can bring joy beyond compare.
For it is only in its absence,
We can appreciate peace of mind.
The simplest little pleasures
are turned to ecstasy by the climb.
3 comments:
oh fleta ,like every thing you write you leave me with tears streaming down my face.patsy
i will never ask you to post again ,i am old and i am not sure that my heart can stand it.
You may have come to blogging reluctantly, but whether you intended it or not, this post will deeply touch every mother who reads it. I think all of us moms are surprised, after our kids are grown, to find out how much mothering we still have to do.
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