Snares and Trip Wires

We just finished a much-needed PT eval for G. And the news was not good.

Never mind the sheer magnitude of his core strength deficits. What grabbed me by the throat was the sudden realization that G's confidence has been slowly but surely eroding to the point that he almost doesn't exist anymore. My independent little man has shrunken to the shadows.

His physical state is a significant piece of that. And the neighborhood sitch is doing the rest of the damage.

We spent the rest of the morning at a nature park and a playground before heading over to Nic's summer school's open house. I was okay through all this, just processing, fitting the pieces of my son (who is also probably depressed--how could I have missed that?) together, trying to figure out what I need to do next.

We dropped G off at his ESY, and a tiny boy clutched G's teacher's hand. He was sobbing quietly.

"Fourth day, separation anxiety," she explained to me.

"My....mommy.....will......wait for me," the little boy said haltingly, between sobs.

It was like getting punched in the chest. Suddenly, it was six years ago on an April morning, and that little boy's name was Nic. Almost the same exact words.

I sobbed all the way home. Nic asked me what my problem was.

We are in a perpetual flood, and I am barely staying afloat, and I feel both of them slipping away, and in trying to keep a tighter grasp on one, the other is losing his hold, and I have to decide which of us I'm saving.

But right now all I can think is that I failed G. Miserably.