Our youngest son was 14 when his brother left for college and we tried to overcompensate for the loss of his brother by providing him with nearly anything he wanted. When he began testing the boundaries, rules and getting into minor trouble at school, we didn't discipline him as strongly as we probably should have. We convinced ourselves that he was acting out because he missed having his brother at home; we made excuses for his behavior. As a result, he has grown into an irresponsible, selfish, lying and manipulative young man. I love him with all of my heart and it pains me greatly to acknowledge the character flaws I see in him. He is not a bad person in spite of these flaws, he is incredibly loving, charismatic, smart, charitable, funny and helpful. I honestly believe when he says he wants to do better that he means it with all of his heart, but for some reason he is never able to stay on track and maintain his course for a better life and better choices.
I have experienced numerous heartbreaks and tears for my wayward son. I pray each day that he finds his way into full-fledged adulthood unscathed by irreversible mistakes. I worry that his time at the youth detention center is only a stepping stone on his journey toward possible incarceration in the adult correctional system. I am learning (slowly) that he needs to be responsible for his own actions now and I cannot force him to make the right choices. I literally work myself into a tizzy when he suggests things I know will not be conducive to his changing his life favorably. When he calls home I waste most of the call lecturing him about potentially poor choices and then I'm left feeling as though all I do is nag him. I'm torn between being a loving supportive force in his life and being the stern lecturer and skeptic.
Then there are days when a glimmer of the boy I raised shines through. The twinkle in his eye, his merry sense of humor, his big strong hugs and helpful nature and it gives me hope that he hasn't grown into a complete stranger. Somewhere under all of that dysfunction is the boy we raised still carrying around the morals we passed onto him as he grew older. I pray with every fiber in me that one day he will pull out those morals and teachings, lay them out before him and build a life on that foundation that he, his parents and his son can be proud of in the future.
But for now, I cry - I cry for my son, I cry for Aaron, I cry for myself and my husband, and I cry for all of you raising your grandchildren and mourning the lost dreams you had for your sons and daughters. I don't think it's possible to stop loving, caring, fearing for, or worrying about them. But, I do feel a sense of resignation looming and I hate it's presence. If I give up hope on him turning his life around then I feel as though I am giving up on him and that is a position I am not willing to reflect on at this point in our journey.