I will admit, there is little in life that is less jarring than unexpectedly seeing your child plastered on social media.
My birth son, my oldest of all 4 of my boys and the only one I don’t parent, is 10 years old. He was placed for adoption at birth because, well, life really sucks sometimes.
I’ve written about it more than a few times throughout this blog, so this isn’t new information at all.
I have a (mostly) great relationship with his parents. We communicate, I’m able to send him gifts and letters and all that, they send me pictures and little updates here and there, and we’re friends on social media. All things I appreciate and thrive on.
However, that does not change the fact that seeing my absolutely beautiful child living his best life unexpectedly on social media doesn’t hurt.
It’s triggering. I can usually anticipate the moments where contact between myself and his parents is inevitable. Holidays, birthdays, things like that.
And sure, he’ll post a picture here and there on Facebook, but it isn’t so…in your face as it has been this week.
My son is living an amazing life as a kid living in a big city on the east coast.
This week, he and his family are on vacation in Columbia. And there have been an abundance of pictures. Which I’m extremely grateful to have those pictures. To be able to watch him grow and see who he is becoming.
But every day this week, sometimes more than once a day, his face keeps coming across my timeline in a new picture of his travel adventures.
And it’s triggering.
It keeps opening up the wounds I’m trying so very hard to keep closed.
Like, I can’t just glance at it and forget until I’m ready to come back and really look.
Which is my typical response. Okay, I see a new picture. But I’m not ready yet. So I’ll save it to my phone in the album of all of his pictures, and come back and look at it when I’m ready to. When I’ve decided I can handle it.
When you’re just inundated over and over again with the most painful experience you’ve ever been through…yeah. It’s rough.
So, this week has been triggering. Wounds have definitely reopened. I don’t like hurting about him. I don’t like missing him. Loving someone as much as a mother loves her son…yet can’t even give him a hug….its a grief you can’t understand.
And, guys, he looks so freaking much like me.
He is kind. And loving. Gentle, charismatic, and good.
I miss him so damn much.
(((I miss you always, but today I miss you extra)))
