Consequences. Thirty four years and more, I carried the load. Never wanting to complain bitch or scold. A week before his birth I put out my hand, to protect him from a vicious kick. My hand was injured so for weeks. But he was saved from a premature end. I loved him dearly and for 11 months nursed him to my breast. Always giving him what he needed and wanted and demanded. All his life it was the law. Occasionally asking of him some small favor. Always getting the negative in return. Will you help me with this or that. No I don’t want to he would cry out. Never once thinking that others have needs that need to be met. Always selfish and me me me. Oh so negative he loved to be. To keep the peace he got his way. To punish a child is have them taken away. I was a wage slave, but never in my days of provider, did I have him go without. Most important he never knew want. I looked ahead all the time. Turning a dollar from a dime. How could I meet his needs in the future? Hockey, toys, games, travel, summer camps education, he had to have them all. And every month I set aside for him no matter how my income was large or small or none at all. For leaving him with not enough was not an option at all, being a good parent I sacrificed all. Month by month his savings grew, money that would see him through any school. He graduated from high school and could not wait to have a ball. Going to any school was not for him the following fall. The money I had saved was lost, yes all, because a good time in Toronto was to be had that fall. So the savings went for the education and future. But to suggest they be spent as earmarked would have made him bawl. His tantrums are never to be taken lightly you know. That is his law. He went his way as the wage slaves do, because he did not want to go on to any more school. The plan was work just enough to survive, but have no plan to keep one alive. Smoking tokes till his mind could no longer think, he moved rapidly into paranoia, hearing voices and on the brink. I bought him vitamins to cure the problem & a juicer to cleanse the toxic body dear. Even gave him enough to live on for a year so he could work on getting well. But he chose to prefer keeping his hell. He threw away the juicer, told me to go to hell. His anger grew and paranoia too. Homeless for a year or two. I give him a ticket to my home. Say get paperwork done before you roam. He just cried out his usual cry. Don’t try make me do what I don’t want to do or I’ll die. So he came for a nice short stay. Then to get paperwork I had to again pay his way. Nearing the end of my years of income, when needed money to save for me is most in need. I find myself looking after someone still who only knows selfish greed. I am told day and night to get away, and how I am crap is all he has of me to say. He breaks my things and slaps me around. His hate and anger to the world knows no bound. I cannot realize why he turned out this way. Selfish self centred and pushing all sane help away. Was it never having to go without, or always finding me willing to listen when he chose to shout? He never had to do anything he did not want to do, perhaps except get up in the morning and go to high school. But today he hates me beyond belief . And I have to say good bye to him much to my great grief. For to have him around threatening to burn the house down or kill me is more than to take I'm bound. So today I look upon his departure from my life as one looks at a boat’s wake. There was much love and good wishes for 34 + years. Today I have only tears. He leaves because as always he is doing what he wants. Never caring for what he should be doing to be a decent healthy person and son. He cares not what others think or feel. Or how much was given up so his life could be meet with zeal. He simply cares not to feel. He threw it all away, his future too, because he insisted that doing what he wants all the time, should be his only rule. Care not for others, appreciate nothing they give, just have a good time and for himself live. The time has come to let him go. My years are few and of this business of my own life I must get on with the show. He refuses to do the smart things to relieve his strife. To Vancouver he goes and homeless he’ll once more be. But he lived his life his way in spite of me. Or perhaps to spite me. I never will know. But as always HE chooses the way he will go. Pick up the pieces, no more I’ll try, because very soon I am apt to die. So his last chance to get well and make something of his life he has thrown out the door. Easy come easy go? One must implore? Perhaps it is only a powerful high he enjoys as he watches me squirm when he knocks me about or breaks my things and at the top of his lungs hollers and shouts. The power surge is what it’s about. But elder abuse I’ll have no more. And never again do I want the demon in him to darken my door. Colleen Carroll
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