So, my let’s-tell-the-kids-plan didn’t exactly work out the way I intended. Child no.2 unexpectedly arrived home yesterday night in a state (the sort of alcohol, brick wall & razor blade state that sometimes happens). I had just gone to bed. His carers did ring to warn me:
‘Erm, things aren’t so good here, Mrs T’
‘They’re not too hot here either, as it happens.’
‘He won’t let us near him.’
‘We’ve called the police, they’ve broken into his flat, we’ve removed the sharp things’
‘He wants you. Can we put him in a taxi and send him over?’
That’s not exactly a question you can refuse, is it? So of course he comes. And of course he wants me. And of course he needs me. And in the moment I am glad to be there. I find the energy because I have too. It is not superhuman. It is being a mum. And he does have a crisis. A genuine one. Not just his demons.
But I have a crisis too. One day, I will have a crisis all to myself. One that won’t be gatecrashed or usurped by others. I’m not sure when that will be but it will be good. Because let’s face it, cancer doesn’t seem to be enough to warrant one to myself.
He took my news fairly well. There was much hugging. Hanging on for dear life rather than hugging actually. He is full of resolutions and promises of good intent. Staying away from alcohol and staying out of trouble is all I want. Those things would help. A lot.
One down, one to go.