...notes on the endpapers:the goal...

 I followed the plan…the revised plan…the writing to replace the already written…

I followed the plan. I went. I sat. I read. I departed from the room of one.

And followed the other down the stairs.

And sat. And answered.  And listened.

The other, in a moment of ‘normalcy’...self-acclaimed superiority of pitch and modulation to utter:

“Well, you know, the goal is independence.”

That.

That repetition.

That worn out repetition of “independence”.  Though, fairly, the usual sentence was “He (they) needs to individuate.” The usual sentence a habitual phrase uttered by both in response to their own discomfiture at being in the presence of a natural bond.

That awful sentence…starting at five.  At five?  At five!  Not even a kindergartener…and already squarely locked in their sights.  Five…and determined to be breakable. 

Five. And disabled. Yes. That’s the word.  Disabled.  In need of additional supports.  And they wanted to destroy the very bond that was the cornerstone of function?  In hindsight, it makes sense of my damage.  A five year old me being held off…held back…from affection, acceptance, comfort…

The audacity, to advise forced individuation…forced division…forced abandonment…

I had to hear it at every meeting…every gathering…every phone call.

“He needs to individuate from you.”

And in my head, as I began to heal and strengthen, I began to think the words “He already did and is and continues to…He individuated and it kills you that he became more like me than like you as he did so.”

It’s not “individuation” or even “independence” they wanted.  It was division. A breaking of our bond…mother and child…because to them, it was unnatural.  Our shared experience of life, my eldest and I, was evidence of their own lack…intolerable!

It continued.  It would have continued.

It continued with my youngest, but a babe in arms.  Demands to run counter to my natural mothering.  Demands to break the bonds and force division.

It continued.

It continued to fail.

Because…

NO!

The goal isn’t independence.

The goal is joy.

The goal is comfort.

The goal is playful curiosity and needs met and tears wiped.

The goal is to be and build a soft place to land.

The goal is to be someone who, even as they differentiate from, they choose to emulate.

The goal is to raise up my children in such a way that they feel secure in their independence because they can always, always come home.

The goal is to build something new.  To be the foundational piece in a legacy of love that spans all those future generations.