The Tether

This son of mine. He is attached to me. We are connected at all times it seems. Tethered. 

This tether. It’s his lifeline.

I am his lifeline.

Our tether has shortened dramatically since his world was turned upside down by COVID-19.

If I go outside to check the mail or step in the garage to get something out of the car and I don’t first tell him what I’m doing, his anxiety goes from 1 to 10. He begins to pace.

If I get stopped by a neighbor or if I pause too long for any reason, panic will start to creep in. He will say, “where are you” over and over until he sees me again.

If I leave the house without him, he will say “mom be back in a little bit” on repeat, literally, for as long as I’m away.

The tether had gotten fairly long prior to March 2020. He didn’t really bat an eye if I left the house for a little while in the evening or on the weekend. I could leave with peace of mind, knowing he wasn’t upset or anxious.

Now, when I’m away from him I feel a constant tug pulling me home. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that there are days my nerves are frayed. Days I want five minutes of alone time. Days I want to be able to walk outside, leave the house, and not worry about him being sad or anxious.

Can you imagine being unable to ask questions about what is happening in our world? How it must feel to try and process so many changes without being able to talk through it with someone. 

How would you cope if nearly every person, every routine, every schedule, every social setting - everything you knew and loved - disappeared overnight? What if you were 16 and the only interactions you had for nearly four months and counting were with your parents? There are days he sobs his frustrations out. There are days I do too.

We are connected. I am his person. We speak the same language. I translate what he cannot understand. No matter what’s going on around him, if he’s with me he feels safe.

There is pressure in that. Mental exhaustion. Worry. Fear. Beauty. Grace. Some days the weight feels heavier. More cumbersome.

I know what he wants. I know what he needs. I know how to calm him.

I wonder what this tether will look like in five years,...fifteen years...twenty-five years. I wonder how far it will reach.

What happens when I can’t come back to him. Will he think I abandoned him? How long will he cry? Who will be there to comfort him?

Fear of the known and the inevitable. 

It's what wakes me in the middle of the night. It’s always been there, mostly under the surface, but ever present. Lately, during this season of constant togetherness, constant attachment, this fear is spilling over the surface and can’t be contained.

I am ashamed at how many times a day I think about dying. How often I whisper prayers to let me live just a minute longer... 

This is why PerspectAbility was born. This is the reason it has become my life’s mission to see it come to fruition.

Because there is no mindset shift or pill to chase these thoughts away. I have not learned to live with it. And one day, I want to take my last breaths in peace.

There was a time when I bartered with God, begging him to make my son love me. I longed and prayed for the day he would say “mom” or “I love you”.

When he was a baby and toddler, he enjoyed having me around. He enjoyed my affection. But he was just as content if I wasn’t around. He didn’t mind if he wasn’t held or didn’t receive affection.

I spent years with him strapped on my back or chest in hopes that my overwhelming love for him might somehow seep into his body and soul. I was desperate for him to *know* the depths of my love, and I was desperate for signs that he loved me too.

I can choose to see this tether as a gift. 

I can be grateful for this connection. Thankful that he loves me so very much. Delighted that he asks for me when I’m away. Happy that he greets me with “hi mom” and the biggest smile when I come back.

It makes no difference that he’s 16 years old and nearly a foot taller than me - the joy and excitement in his face when I return home is impossible to explain. Whether I’ve been away for thirty minutes or three hours, he is overcome with happiness when I return.

It’s the kind of love that makes your soul smile. Some folks never get to know what that kind of love feels like.

So I will choose to see this attachment as a gift. I will see it as an opportunity to ensure that he feels safe and loved. I will be thankful for him seeking me out for reassurance and affection. I will remember the days, so many days, I prayed and longed for him to show me love in a tangible way. I will be grateful for the BIG, enduring love he has for me.