I decided to read some of my old journal entries in search of something worth posting. I found this one from a year and a half ago. I don't think I could have shared this at the time I wrote it. I feel compelled to share it now, though, because it's important for me to recognize how really good things are right now. Some days, things don't feel great, but they are light years ahead of where they have sometimes been.
I can't believe I am the only person who has felt the way I felt when I wrote the following in my journal. Perhaps in the sharing will come peace and hope and a feeling of not being so alone for some other mom out there.
August 12, 2009
Here I am in the middle of another sleepless night. I have more of those now than I do restful ones. I have more of them now than I did with any of my newborns. In fact, the only restful nights seem to come after a string of long, sleepless nights, when I am so physically and emotionally exhausted that the only thing left is to crash hard. All because another day has gone by where I have failed my son.
The idea that I cannot save Jordan is the heaviest burden I know. I cannot accept it. It makes me weary, and we are both suffering for it. I cannot accept that Heavenly Father sent Jordan to this eart to fail. All I ever wanted for Jordan was to be able to help him become the best Jordan he is capable of being. Sometimes I know for sure that "that" Jordan will be far greater than anything I could ever have imagined for him. Other times I despair "that" Jordan to be far less. I feel guilt for the second Jordan I imagine because if that is the Jordan he becomes, I will have failed him.
Every day ends with Jordan consuming my prayers. Every day starts with Jordan consuming my prayers. It is not enough. When I imagine Jordan's qualities belonging to another child, I have all the answers on how to raise him. When I am faced daily with Jordan and his unique challenges, I seem to forget everything I know to be right and good and effective for Jordan. Each night I lie in bed re-living the day, and I become consumed with my inability to reach Jordan and help him and love him in a way that he can truly feel. I vow to do better. I vow to be his best advocate. I vow to lead a better life so the Spirit can better guide me. When morning comes I am grateful for a new chance. Then, almost as soon as Jordan awakes, my resolve begins to crumble. I become a terrible mother who creates more experiences to re-live as I lie sleepless again.
I become more desperate each day because I am running out of time to fix all the terrible mothering mistakes I have made with Jordan and at the same time help him see his potential with eternal vision.
When I contemplate my time with Jordan on this earth, my thoughts are flooded with proud glimpses of genius, laughter at sheer quirky behavior, deeply sorrowful times of disappointment in Jordan as well as in myself, and angry moments I can never take back. I have one memory of complete and utter love so intense that I remember having this thought at the time, "Remember this moment because you will need this memory in the future." It was when Jordan was about two years old. He was lying next to me on my bed taking a nap. I looked over at his peaceful chubby face surrounded by a halo of sweaty blond curls, and I felt pure love. I took his dimply hand in mine, held it for as long as I could, and tried to imprint the details of the moment in my mind and heart. I long for that moment again, but I would settle for another one like it.
I have known for a long time that Jordan would seek the ever-illusive acceptance wherever he could find it, and I feared where those places would be. As much as I want him to feel that love and acceptance at home, I have failed miserably in helping him find it here. So, my fear grows. He has begun his quest for acceptance outside our home with devastating consequences so far. His search seems to grow and gain momentum like a snowball racing down a hill, gathering speed and debris as it becomes harder and faster and stronger. It's a snowball I can't stop--one that has become so large I cannot hold it back, much less mold it back into a little, magable, pure white, soft snowball again.