Join The Conversation With Mishpacha's Weekly Newsletter



A Mother at Twilight

As told to Riva Pomerantz

This happy, loving, playful puppy is my son. Drawn to the magic of his singular charm, we laugh and bask in the sunlight of his twinkling eyes. This writhing, gnawing dragon is my son. Slashing, smashing, leaving a trail of blood and tears behind, he rips through heart and home.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

split picture of childThis happy, loving, playful puppy is my son. Drawn to the magic of his singular charm, we laugh and bask in the sunlight of his twinkling eyes. His imagination knows no bounds; his antics are a daily delight. This child pets rabbits with the gentlest touch, he quiets babies with his silken voice. He shares his snacks with glee, bestows a loving kiss on me. This angel is my child. And I cherish him.

This writhing, gnawing dragon is my son. Slashing, smashing, leaving a trail of blood and tears behind, he rips through heart and home. There is no stopping the unbridled rage. There are no words large enough to plumb the depths of the torrential pain. His pain. My pain. I hold the shaking, aching body, my breath coming in small, stiff gasps. He breaks free now, and plunges. A sharp kick to my leg. Spittle stains my face. His teeth reach for my arm. This monster is my child. And I mourn him.

How could this be? Where has he gone? That sweet, cuddled, coddled child who I carried and raised, who I held for long nights and sang to gently. Where has he gone? Where have we gone wrong? I kissed his bruises, I read him books, I never hit and seldom yelled. I gave to him, again and again from the wellspring of my love. Where have those vast deposits of love gone? Aren’t they supposed to be preserved forever, forming a solid, stable, joyous foundation? Isn’t there a Law about love, like Conservation of Energy? That once instilled, it lasts forever?

My aching musings laugh at me shamelessly. Laws of love? they snort, then guffaw. For that oft-invested love seems to have all but eroded in the frigid chill of stormy blasts. I cower now in fear, shrink from this child I don’t know anymore.

 

 

To read the rest of this story, please buy this issue of Mishpacha or sign up for a weekly subscription.

Share this page with a friend. Fill in the information below, and we'll email your friend a link to this page on your behalf.

Your name
Your email address
You friend's name
Your friend's email address
Please type the characters you see in the image into the box provided.
CAPTCHA
Message


MM217
 
The Fortunes of War
Rabbi Moshe Grylak We’re still feeling the fallout of the First World War
Some Lessons, But Few Portents
Yonoson Rosenblum What the midterms tell us about 2020
Vote of Confidence
Eyan Kobre Why I tuned in to the liberal radio station
5 out of 10
Rabbi Dovid Bashevkin Top 5 Moments of the Kinus
Day in the Life
Rachel Bachrach Chaim White of KC Kosher Co-op
When Less is More
Rabbi Ron Yitzchok Eisenman How a good edit enhances a manuscript
It’s My Job
Jacob L. Freedman “Will you force me to take meds?”
They’re Still Playing My Song?
Riki Goldstein Yitzy Bald’s Yerav Na
Yisroel Werdyger Can’t Stop Singing
Riki Goldstein Ahrele Samet’s Loi Luni
Double Chords of Hope
Riki Goldstein You never know how far your music can go
Will Dedi Have the Last Laugh?
Dovid N. Golding Dedi and Ding go way back
Battle of the Budge
Faigy Peritzman Using stubbornness to grow in ruchniyus
The Challenging Child
Sarah Chana Radcliffe Strategies for raising the difficult child
Bucking the Trend
Sara Eisemann If I skip sem, will I get a good shidduch?
The Musician: Part 1
D. Himy, M.S. CCC-SLP and Zivia Reischer "If she can't read she'll be handicapped for life!"