I thought we'd have problems.
I knew to expect it would be hard.
I know it to be absolutely, irrefutably, unceasingly true that Life Is Hard And Good and that we would end up walking the whole way with Hard and Good as companions.
I just thought that it would be a nicer kind of problem. A more pleasing kind of hard. That the walk would be challenging but only in ways I like.
I also thought that all the Hard we'd get would be Hard we are well-equipped to handle. That if we didn't have the tools to handle it, we'd happily and easily get the tools and then do the work and then Hard would be just one more thing that we were good at doing. That's really the heart of it there: I really thought we would be good at doing Hard and that because we were so good at it, it actually wouldn't be all that hard at all.
It turns out that watching his grandmother slowly die over many months, and then watching his dad suffer a grievous injury and swimming in the bath was our life of pain and disappointment and pain and sadness and pain and anger - it turns out all of that left our boy a wee bit broken. It turns out that 3 is too young to think you saved your dad's life. It turns out that if your parents are a bit distracted by all of the above, they may not notice that you've become a bit anxious and worried and that your big feelings aren't just growing up feelings but are deep down, Life May Be Awful All The Time Feelings.
And if that goes on for five years and no one really figures it out and you find out that getting mad gets a lot of care and attention in your house, you may become a nine year old who is mad a lot. And your mad may get bigger and bigger as you get bigger and bigger until eventually it's just way too big for an eighteen-hundred square foot house.
When that happens, a mom might be surprised to discover that it turns out there is a Hard that isn't turned into beauty and goodness as quickly as she has long believed it can be. A mom and dad may discover that new tools don't fix broken things all the way or very quickly, if at all; that some broken just stays. A family may find out that Too Hard isn't an option and that the next day must be done, even if the day before was The Last Straw, a Bridge Too Far, More Than We Can Bear.
On days like that, sun is welcome and neighbours more and we just make some toast and write it down and hope Goodness shows up eventually.
That's what some of us do.
