Watching My Son Leave

Year 5 in the house, my oldest, without a word, packed his bags, lugged them to his truck and drove away. I had no idea he was leaving, although he had every right to walk away from what I had created. I realized he was packing just as he was walking up the steps from downstairs with his final load of belongings, heading towards his truck. I asked if I could help him and he said, “I’ll talk to you when he is gone.” And he meant gone. As in out of our lives. And I know it was never my oldest’s responsibility to get me out of a situation I so willingly walked into almost 9 years earlier and kept us in by accepting and excusing behaviors again and again. But getting me out is exactly what my oldest did. Because when it finally, finally came down to a real decision between my kids or him, the answer was so obvious I couldn’t believe it hadn’t been screeching at me all along. And if I’m truthful, it was screeching over the years, sometimes terrifyingly so to the point I couldn’t sleep at night or think rationally as the anxiety I had never had before became real and started to climb and climb over time. But I became a pro at muffling that screech time and time again by thinking I could change things, thinking I could make it work. If only I could get it right, if I could remember all of the things that set him off, get ahead of his triggers. It’s so clear now, when I am out of it. I wasn’t triggering him. He was gleefully waiting for ways to trigger me.