Estrangement

 Since the winter of 2018 my son slowly stepped out of my life. I've read all communications with him and I have yet to understand what actually went wrong. I decided to let it be, thinking that somehow time would cure wounds. But no, the silence is wider. He has done the same with his father, not answering phone calls, texts. I found this anonymous essay and adapted it to my own experience, and here it is:

To my son Michael.  You have chosen a life without me.  I’ve tried many forms of contact but failed. It has been many months… Will this silence last forever? I ought not to equate my agony to grieving for the dead: you’re alive, so I hold on to hope with faltering fingertips. 

I wonder if you’re forging ahead with your passions and friendships. I want to be proud and happy for you. Most of all I want to know if you intend this silence to last forever? If so, then please help me understand why. All of the anger that’s been building up since Sela died, what is that fully about? 

I have looked up the word estrangement on the internet and all I can find are examples of forced relationships or violent parents or something similar. I can’t find anyone to relate to, and frankly, I’m ashamed to do so. I had thought that you and I were close. I miss you every single day until it makes me feel sick. 

Rejection in a romantic love relationship is deeply painful, but from a son, the wound cannot heal over with time. I can’t replace you with a new friend. I imagine you may think I should be happy with my friends, rest of the family, but they cannot fill the void. The wound is gaping and tender, and it becomes re-infected daily. 

I look out for you in every street corner. A tiny glimmer of hope briefly possess me when I see someone who might be you. My vision cruelly morphs the most unlikely strangers in to your shape. Many times each day my brain plays tricks. 

A close friend said that I have no choice but to give you space and to get on with my life. This is what I do, but you are below the surface of everything. I’m never truly laughing, never relaxed or content, for every one of those moments end in nostalgia for shared moments.

Tears burst out of me at the most inappropriate moments, at any reminder. It endangers my everyday life, my sanity. Other people! What do they say? I know you’d think that I’m shallow to care, but many of those who know us do judge me and perhaps gossip.

I resent what seems to be everyone else having children and grandchildren, who enjoy their company, who talk things through with them, and share. 

I avoid any conversation about you; I can’t stand questions about how you’re doing. I deflect them and reverse them until I come across as being cold and closed up. I won’t be pitied, especially by those who will make judgments or will inevitably pat themselves on the back for their own parental success, in comparison with my shabby rejection. Yes, I’ve become jealous –I resent what seems to be everyone else having children who enjoy their company, who have meals with them, and talk things through with them.

Anger. You’re not the only one. I have that, too. Perhaps you’re afraid of that and that’s why you won’t come back? I’m gut-wrenchingly upset that you think it’s all right to do this to me: to your mother. Where is the love in that? Would your friends do it to their mothers? Why are their mothers superior and so much more deserving than I am? 

I’m so afraid that the longer this continues, the harder it will be for you to break it. I tried to teach you “strength in silence” when there seemed to be no other choice, to help you through a tricky rejection, but I never expected you to use it against me.

I used to believe that we were close; I have always loved being your mother. 
Here’s an opportunity for you to do something good. Please come back to me, or at least explain why, so that I may better understand. Please help me to find some peace from the tormenting questions in my head. 

Christmas 2006