by Susan Shearouse
Journal Entry. May 12. Sunday. Mother’s Day
February 26, 1982 – September 14, 2018
Sitting on the porch, comforted by the sweet soft rain. This bench is sheltered just so. I can look out across the front yard at my gardens there and stay dry here.
Mother’s Day. I am the mother of three children. One is not with me. Other people say “he is here.” No. Here is rumbling through the neighborhood in an old truck that needs a new muffler. Here is bounding up the front steps, bursting through the front door calling out “Hi Mom!” Here is wrapping those long skinny arms around me. Here is that soft place on the side of his neck that I kissed as I said a silent prayer of protection for him.
No. Don’t tell me about the power of prayer – unless you want to tell me that some people’s prayers are better than others… more powerful maybe? Or does God just love them more?
I wept in Karen’s office. Why did he leave me? “He didn’t,” she said. “He just left the pain he couldn’t bear any longer.”
Yes. I’ve spent more nights in prayer and worry for him than for Eli or Fer. Because there always seemed to be something more fragile about him. He was less tethered to this life. The others seemed sturdier, somehow. Eli said, after the news, “well, if he hadn’t done it now he would have done it later.” I don’t want to believe that. I believe ‘if only…’ If only I had been there… If only I‘d tried one more time, or twenty more times, to get him to the help he needed.
How could such a handsome, kind, loving, brighter than I could imagine human being ever carry such pain, to think that the only way was out?
So well said Susan. I could’ve written some of that myself – we have similar stories and sentiments. I agree on the prayer thing. It ought to be called “the power of prayer to get what you want”. No one says their prayers were answered when they get a “no”…….
If it makes you feel any better, my son was on medication and seeing a therapist. But he was far away in NYC and holding us at arms’ length.
I am so sorry you lost your sweet Jake.
Peace to you.
I knew Jake only briefly when I lived on Cub Creek rd. we would walk up to Hickmans and he was always so polite and easy to talk to. You never would’ve known he was battling his own demons. My heart breaks for your loss.
I am sure Susan will reply but just wanted to say thank you for your thoughtful comment. Parents who’ve lost a child love those tidbits and stories.
Thank you so much for this memory of Jake. I have read and read and reread your words. It’s a comfort to me to know that others also remember him.
Thank you for sharing your story Susan. I understand the difference in “being here”.