grief, revisited

Grief cycles. The first round is so painful,as to be almost unbearable. The second,is still extremely painful.After the second round,grief is painful,but bearable. The problem after the initial grieving,is grief comes unexpectedly. Sometimes it blindsides. Sometimes it creeps in; slowly darkening the day.
I am grieving.
Having a child with serious emotional problems is in many ways like having a child with a terminal illness. Always hoping for the miracle. Always hoping for life without undue suffering. Always knowing in the back of your mind that the prognosis isn’t good.
In many ways my son’s difficulties are of no fault of his own. He never asked to be abused and then thrown away,anymore than another child would ask for cancer.
That is where the comparison breaks down,of course. A child with a potential terminal illness has no control over the outcome. All he can do is cope with the treatment and with the disease.
My son has options. Many of his problems are of his own making. He has to face the fact he is ill. He has to want to heal. He has a choice.
I am watching my twelve year old son slowly self destruct and I feel helpless to stop him.
I am feeling the grief he doesn’t allow himself to feel.I am grieving for a childhood lost. I am grieving for a son I cannot reach. I am grieving for a future that will only include pain and suffering;not just my son,but those whom he comes in contact with. He externalizes his anger. He will someday be very dangerous if his descent isn’t halted.
I have been rereading everything I own on attachment. I have been rethinking everything we did and did not do for youngest son. My head tells me we did,and are doing most things right. Not everything,of course. There were times I reacted instead of acted. On the whole those times were few and far between. We never punished. Our consequences were fair and appropriate.We never shamed. We rarely became angry.We did,and do love our son unconditionally.
My heart tells me I have failed somehow. My heart grieves the loss of a son I barely know.
We are back at square one.
My words to my son are matter of fact. My words to myself are full of despair.
I wish, sometimes, I could be more clinical;less emotionally involved. I wish I could wash my hands and say “enough”.
We are doing all we can within our power to help this son.
We did not abuse him. We did not abandon him. He came to us broken in soul. He came to us hating. He came to us terrified. He came to us determined we were no different than those who came before us. He came determined to hurt us, before we could hurt him.
We have yet to find a way to shift his beliefs. We cannot find a way to safely have him home.
So we continue to love.
We continue to pray for a miracle.
We continue to hold on tenuously to hope.
We continue to grieve.