Yesterday he said he was leaving us. Although the terms ‘temporary’ and ‘break’ were used there still lingers in my heart a certain feeling of finality to it all. As we sat with my youngest three, he muttered those words “I’m leaving,” almost without hesitation. I was watching my oldest daughter’s face in anticipation of tears. She sat there in disbelief and was initially stoic. I heard the first sniffles coming from my youngest son whose head was now hanging low. I never expected this to affect him so passionately, he’s such a ‘go with the flow’ kind of kid.
I embraced him, knowing that he needed comfort more than my daughters at this moment. I could feel the warmth of his tears soaking my shirt, I squeezed him harder and began to cry with him. Any words spoken in that moment became a white noise and I felt his heart crushing as I held him. I felt his pain. I wanted so badly to make it all go away, but despite my efforts, I couldn’t. He tried to pull away and I held him harder. Why is he the one hurting the worst?
It wasn’t until hours later that I found the time to think about what this man meant to him. He was a father to him, albeit not biologically, in every sense of the word, he was his father. Their bond was beautiful, formed even before my own personal intimate relationship with this man. He has never had a man show him how to be a man except in the most recent of years. I feel as though I have failed my son, again. The legacy a father leaves with a son will now just come from a collaboration of different men who will only likely be in his life a season, never steadfastly. I HAVE failed him.
We went through something eerily similar less than four years ago. I spent a long time picking up my kid’s pieces and holding them together as well as myself. I taught my oldest how to shave and each of my boys how to be respectful to women and change a bike tire. Tie a tie, do their laundry, write their essays, check oil, pump gas, lead a family, love Christ, make goals. It isn’t supposed to be this way. My ideas and hopes for THIS man to be THE man were futile. ‘Hopium’ is an addicting and sick drug, living off hopes for something to be something it is in fact not.
As I held tighter to him, he pulled harder away, eventually breaking free from my embrace, quickly retreating to his room. I sat with my own shattered heart and a tear-soaked shoulder as I watched him disappear into the hallway. I reached for my oldest daughter to offer comfort as I heard his door shut louder than normal. He was decimated, defeated and distraught. With two arms I cannot simultaneously comfort three broken hearted kids, but I knew he needed me the most. Upon following him to his room he asked not to see this man and to be left alone. I patiently respected his wishes until it came time to say goodbye to our dog.
Shortly after this happened the first time, we lost both of our dogs. Too eerily familiar. He lay on the floor next to another dog he was losing, one he loves so much. My son, only 13 years old on his hands and knees hanging over Belle, weeping, nearly unable to catch his breath between gut wrenching cries of him asking “why, why, why?” In my own frozen state, I remind him of his worth and how loved and loving he is. He cries harder. Losing someone who still physically lives on is in many ways worse than losing someone you know you’ll have eternity with.
Nighttime came and I could hear through the walls the cries of my son’s pain. I entered his room each time offering comfort, but it wasn’t my comfort he was seeking, it was this mans, the one who just left. Any passing car I could hear him get up to check out the window and I know that my son hoped this reality was in fact a dream and not reality. Our morning was no different. Full of fulfilled and unfulfilled promises. It was almost as if he never existed in our space. His parking spot, shelves, drawers and hangers were all empty. The only sign that he was once a part of our lives is a tiny sticker above the towel rack labeled ‘DAD.’
My son’s losses have been immeasurable for such a formable and sensitive time in his life. His loss of my dad, who was the most consistent man in his life, my brother, his own biological dad. And now just yesterday, the loss of the man he has had as a guiding light through all the troubles he has had to face. In the destruction of this man’s confusion and choices my son was collateral damage. He barely made it out of bed and couldn’t even make it to school. Today we embraced one another and wept, many times over. ‘Hopium’ led to the sound of studded tires on the road and the creak in the door at the bottom of the stairs perking us up. Reality left our hearts empty. His pain has now become my pain. Together through a tragic loss we will forever be bonded by the damage caused.
This is the reality of my son’s pain.
MARCH 2025
Rooted in Relationship 
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