Coming Home

It's been a little more than 9 months; the same amount of time it took for him to grow nestled up underneath my ribs before making his dramatic entrance into the world.

 My first born has been away for 9 impossibly long/short months and today he comes home.
Much like the day I birthed him, today stretches out long before me- packed full with anticipation, anxiety over the unknown, excitement to see his face and finally hold him, and a celebration of the work both of us have done throughout these months to grow him to the place where it's healthy enough for him to join the 'outside' world.

Much like the first time, we'll both have to learn how to live together. The first time I brought him home, I sat him on the table in his car seat- he was blissfully unaware of the world around him- one that had been radically changed just one month prior when the twin towers fell under horrific attack. He slept peacefully; blind trust in my ability to protect and nurture him; and I stared at his chubby cheeks, crown of thick dark hair, and large hands curled at his face and wondered how I would ever be able to be the mom he deserved. As with every new mother who came before me and those who continue to come after, I had little more than my instinct and fierce love to lead me into raising him. When I try to picture the future now, I find that little has changed. 

We'll create a rhythm of life that's new to both of us, and the rest of the family. We'll rise and fall. I expect to hear the beauty of his laughter- the same boisterous delight that pours out of his belly and first took my breath away leaving tears of wonder on my cheeks. I anticipate tears- of confusion, anger, pain and sadness- from both him and myself- as we navigate our new normal- one he's been growing towards for the 40+ weeks he's been tucked away in the womb of therapy, healing, education and treatment.
The difference, between the homecoming 16 years ago and today, is that today I have the reassuring known history behind us of getting through. With the first child, every stage feels like a lifetime- one that lasts forever- and the beautiful seasons as well as the challenging ones seem as though they'll never end. Baby land, toddler hood, preschool days- they can bleed together into a monotony of sorts- the passing of time marked by met milestones, celebrated firsts, and the bittersweet taste of their growing independence. As time passes, each new stage brings joy and challenge.The difference now is that I understand none of the stages last forever; they inevitably shift as he grows and that continual changing is both frightening and freeing.
The first time I brought him home, I didn't yet know that the two of us would become an unstoppable force; stitched together into an abbreviated army that would fight valiantly for our freedom against what plagued him. I had no way of knowing how connected we would be because of pain and challenge and the grief that comes when the reality of his mental illness finds its way to manifest anew.

But this time, I know. The knowing of our strength doesn't alleviate my fear; he still sleeps peacefully, in blind trust that I will protect and nurture him. But I know more now. I know that my instinct and fierce love is enough. I know that I am completely inadequate to protect him from hurt and harm, and yet, somehow also completely equipped. I know that I will fail, and I know that love and the force of sheer will can beautifully and magically cancel out my shortcomings. I know that there are incredible victories on our horizon and there will also be jarring disappointments; but I also know that we will pass through all of them as we always have; working in tandem to wriggle ourselves into the sweet spot- where his piercingly blue eyes meet mine with determination, and we keep pressing on, because, we know.