The nurse places the sweet baby boy in her heavy arms and she looks down at him, this tiny little life she is now responsible for. She is only nineteen and shouldn’t feel ready, but the moment his already brown eyes lock with hers, she feels it. She is his, and he is hers. It’s just the two of them. She has never felt more ready for anything in her life. She wonders what his first word will be? What will his favorite color be? She pictures him standing there with a backpack larger than he is, ready for his first day of kindergarten. She knows there will be sleepless nights. She knows she’ll have so many questions, many of which she’ll never really know the answer to. She inhales the scent of her sweet boy and makes a silent vow to be the best mama she knows how to be.
***
It is ten minutes past 8pm on September 1st, 2022 when she receives the text that will forever change the way she feels when her oldest son isn’t in her view.
The kitchen is warm as she prepares a second dinner for her growing boys to eat when they come tumbling through the front door after her middle son’s football practice. A small dinner before and a feast after. It is true what they say, about boys eating you out of house and home. The water for the macaroni and cheese is boiling, and she just placed the last pizza roll in the air fryer as she hears the text tone. It is Brady’s therapist. She had considered making something a bit more healthy but went with their favorites instead tonight.
“Hello again Dani, just wanted to give you a heads up to check your email for an important update I just sent. Talk to you soon”
Her thumbs cannot exit the text and open the email fast enough.
“I’m reaching out to you in regards to some mental health situations that Brady informed me of today.”
She feels the panic set in immediately, and has to will herself to continue reading. She knows this information is crucial, but she is also terrified of the words that may come next. The therapist can’t be talking about her son. Sure, he gets angry sometimes. Yes, he has punched something to the point of his hands bleeding once or twice before. But what she just read, no way. Not her son.
Half way through the first of several paragraphs she hears the door open and her husband and sons come barreling in. The room starts to go a bit black. She is half reading the words on her screen and half listening to them begin to tell her about their evening. She locks eyes with her husband, and he knows something is wrong. “What’s wrong?” he asks. She answers “I can’t right now. Just please help me get the food on the table.” He looks concerned, but quickly gets to work helping her feed the hungry mouths.
She stumbles her way through the email several times in the next hour. She re-reads knowing that she didn’t retain everything during her panic. After the youngest two are tucked in, she sits on the couch and divulges what she read to her husband. As soon as the words tumble out, so does some of the weight. She realizes she’s not meant to carry things like this alone.
She makes her way upstairs to her son’s room and sits cross legged on his bed. For the next half hour they discuss the email, along with any other details he is willing to confess. She asks questions, but not too many in fear of him shutting down. She listens, sometimes just nodding, knowing no words will do the situation justice. This is a conversation she would have never planned for. One she never thought she’d have.
She carries with her stories and advice passed down from the mothers in her life. She reads essays about the mundane, chaos, and beauty that make up the holy work of motherhood. These are the things that make her eyes fill with tears when she reads about them.
But what about this?
No one told her that for the next, however long, she will live with a buzzing sense of anxiety and panic when her 15 year old leaves the room.
***
Disclaimer: Specifics of this situation are left vague on purpose. While Brady has given me permission to share my view of that day (including reading this and giving the stamp of approval) it is ultimately his story to tell. I am so thankful he chose to share it with his therapist, knowing she would share it with me. I do not take this responsibility or relationship lightly and will continue to advocate for and protect my son's mental health the best I know how.
Dani, I’m so thankful you shared this, because you are helping the rest of us by going first with the hard. Keeping you all in prayer. Way to be brave, Brady.
Oh Dani. My heart is so heavy for you, and for him. Praying ❤️