I Grieve My Past Son

Before He Overcame His Speech Delay

Photo by Farrel Nobel on Unsplash

Most nights I find myself scrolling my phone through old photos rather than scrolling social media. I come across memories of my son when he was young — a baby and his little toddler years. I relive them in my head and smile. Smiling isn’t something I often do anymore.

He’s changed. Almost 8 and he’s become strong willed borderline defiant. Is it normal developmental changes? Is he just testing his boundaries and limits? All I know is I grieve the little boy that once rode his power wheel in his birthday suit throughout the house. The little boy who used to cuddle me every night before bed and every morning as I drank my coffee. The little boy who would listen so intently because you could see his brain trying to soak up everything around him.

The innocent child who struggled to pick up his words and language but made up for it with affection. Where did he go? Did finding his voice create this? Would he still be loveable child if he hadn’t? I feel guilt even considering that possibility.

I miss our lives together filled with daily joy and activities. I never realized how much our lives were filled with adventure until I stopped leaving the house. It just became too hard to handle — too difficult to regulate myself in public. The only way I could see myself surviving was to avoid the overstimulation all together. Maybe if he saw the days had changed, that we no longer did anything fun, he would listen a little more. It worked for a while until it didn’t and now I don’t know how to find my way back.

I grieve him. Our old lives. The feelings of happiness at the end of a long day is no longer there and I question if I was ever a good mom to begin with. Maybe I was just lucky until it got hard and now there’s no hiding my incompetence. I’ve lost my confidence.

I spend more time crying out of frustration than creating new memories. I have a hard time self regulating myself — regulating the both of us is proving too difficult. The more time passes, the deeper the hole of sadness and loneliness becomes. The more time passes, the harder it is to leave the house.

Motherhood is painful and exhausting with moments of happiness that keep you going. Giving up isn’t an option. Maybe if I keep trying, my past son will come back and I can look back at this past year and know we made it. Maybe he will understand the damage and would want to be better together.

Maybe, just maybe, we can start creating new memories.