Born with a naturally gentle disposition

But unable to stop his rage when hindered

A disturbing enthusiasm for nursing

The morphine in mother's milk just the beginning

An urge to merge, a pleasure in pleasing

And never able to handle teasing;

Post-mature, c-section, difficult birth

Hours alone in an isolette;

Why didn't he want to be born?

Why didn't I want to let him?

Those questions are stupid and have no answer;

The timing was just screwed up.

Born with a naturally gentle disposition

But unable to stop his rage when hindered

A disturbing enthusiasm for nursing

The morphine in mother's milk just the beginning

An urge to merge, a pleasure in pleasing

And never able to handle teasing;

Post-mature, c-section, difficult birth

Hours alone in an isolette;

Why didn't he want to be born?

Why didn't I want to let him?

Those questions are stupid and have no answer;

The timing was just screwed up.

Parents divorced and then depressed

And people just kept leaving;

Baby-sitters, best friends, brother off to college,

I kept everything as stable as I could

And that probably made things worse

But parents recover and children do too;

New friends come and one adjusts.

Time heals.

A mathematical brain, a genius

With awesome stamina and focus

When he thought something should be

He acted as if it would be;

Naturally graceful and cautious

He never had bruises, cuts,
scratches or stitches

He just nearly killed himself twice

Because he thought he could fly

But eventually he learned,

With time.

An almost supernatural beauty in a nearly perfect body

With bonding eyes and a centered calmness

He captivated others and drew them in

With a dangerous sort of power

A gift that needed mastering

But eventually everyone loses

Nature always teaches

The odds run out --

Eventually everyone hits a wall,

Even Golden Boys;

All he needed was time.

If only life were as perfect and predictable

As the absolute symmetry of his face

And his hair that was never re-arranged

By sleep, sweat, wind or water,

Like the rest of us mortals;

But even that went the way of all flesh

Growing in coarse and dark
in adolescence

In sworls at the base of his neck

Eroding the blond silk of earlier years

Like the depression that circled coarse and dark around him

Eclipsing the sunniest of dispositions.

It wouldn't do what it used to do

He wasn't as he used to be

But it could all turn again;

Time changes things.

Time changes everything.

He could drop kick and run backwards

Before he was a year old

Things the pediatrician told me were exceptional

And when he was 6,

I ran out of room on his soccer shirt

For the stars from all his goals;

A one-man team,
the others just got in his way

But that was soccer, not life.

Even the exceptional need an audience

And in time he would learn the difference.

Time passed and on he went

To amazing academic awards and honors

And became more beautiful,
if that's possible,

Effortlessly cruising through life,
always the star,

And every obstacle I manufactured to throw in his path

Because life wasn't providing any

He vaulted over like an Olympic hurtler

All except his father

But every boy defeats his father
sooner or later --

That time would come.

And then came drugs and tough times

But through it all he kept mostly ahead;

Excellent grades and plans,

Staying in touch with family,

Falling down, getting up,

Taking a hit, bouncing back.

Surely he would learn to manage it

As time went by.

So what went wrong?

Other kids have been through divorce

And spent a while with
depressed parents

And had impossible fathers

And impossible mothers

And moved around

And lost dogs

And others
with a propensity for addiction

Have wallowed in it and returned

Like half the litigators in this town,

And his grandfather,
the chairman of the SEC,

And he was close to seeing
what he needed to see,

With honors and opportunities
still within his reach

And his gentle soul mostly intact

Maturing, working full-time
and paying the rent

Finally agreeing to mop floors
like other mortals

Lurching through adolescence;

It's the bullet-proof age

You hope they get just enough bullets

Just strong enough to impress,
but not lethal,

And eventually they learn to BE the man

Not FIGHT the man

And he was getting there

It was only a matter of time.

"All strong souls first go to hell before they do the healing of the world they came here for. If we are lucky, we return to help those still trapped below."

- Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes