Last night, my thirty-seven-year-old son spent the night in our home. He suffers from chronic pain–gimpy from a stroke in infancy, fibromyalgia, a dislocating shoulder. Serious pain. Over the years I have been aware of his need for stronger pain medications, and how he plans his day so physical activity falls during the medicated periods.

Three or four times during the night I heard him cry out in pain. Once he shuffled to the kitchen to take medication, and I heard him sink into the living room recliner for a while.

There was a decade when I pushed away my empathic feelings, and tried not to think about his suffering, either.  My experience is different now. It isn’t his pain–he doesn’t own it–it’s life’s pain, pouring through him. He has deep wisdom, and in the midst of his suffering, he understands this.

I feel it, yes, deeply–but not in a personal way anymore. When I can help, I do so. Mothering is a role, it is not what I am.

© Skye Blaine, 2011

2 thoughts on “mothering

  1. Awwwww… experiencing so much compassion as I read this. I sense your son is a very wise and sensitive soul.

    Mothering is not what you are, and a person in pain is not what he is. How lucky your son is to have you in his life – to do what you can, yet to see him as so much more than a person living with pain.

    Blessings to you both (and to your sweet partner)!


    1. Thank you, Carol!
      My son is wise and sensitive. And we are lucky to have each other. He said to me the other morning, “If you or big B (his nickname for Boudewijn) ever need me, just call. I’ll be there.” How dear is that?


I welcome comments and discussion!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s