Grieving the Pain of a Dream

When I was younger, more than anything in this world I wanted to have a family. That dream came true when I married a man I loved and was blessed with a son and daughter. Then some sort of time warp occurred, because I've now been married twenty three years, my son is twenty and my daughter is on the brink of high school graduation.

Family has enabled me to know both joy and heartache as I never imagined. It has also led me on a journey I hadn't anticipated. As my son's life has taken shape, one of the forces attempting to define him is mental illness. Sadly, the older he gets, the more difficulty he has surviving this harsh world.

In the past few months, my son has become increasingly distraught at his inability to achieve the life that he wants. His broken mind complicates matters by distorting his reality, and thrusting him into various states of futility and anxiety. He is often misjudged, belittled or placed in situations which are unsafe for him because of ignorance about his condition. As I watch him stumble and cry out for relief and hope, my own pain mounts.

Presently we are grappling with difficult decisions about his future. We have exhausted every avenue that is presently available in hopes of relieving this needy soul of the paralysis that robs him of the quality of life and peace most of us take for granted. I am most unsettled by the idea that his life seems filled with so much limitation. In my heart, I know that we are all limited creatures, empowered to live only as the God of this universe enables us. I know that the world that we humans have attempted to make our own is not nearly so real as those things which remain largely unseen -- the divine and eternal true reality. I know my understanding of my son's pain and illness is limited, and because of that, I am most thankful that God knows perfectly. So even in the midst of my grieving, I grieve in faith. But I grieve nonetheless.

I grieve the life that feels lost. I agonize over the choices we must make to provide adequate care and safety for him. I ache that my son's faith -- though true and deep -- is not as clear about the matter of his own life, about how he feels abandoned, alone and forgotten. I mourn these things because I can't take them away, can't relieve his pain, can't calm his breaking heart. The dream from long ago clouded by the reality of a broken soul that I can't fix.

There is comfort in knowing that I do not grieve alone. Encouragement warms my spirit as I recall the story of Jesus with Mary and Martha. At the death of their brother Lazarus, Jesus was moved to tears at their broken hearts, even as He prepared to command life back into Lazarus' bones . Somehow, knowing that encourages my hurting heart.