I have loved you from the moment I conceived you. I’ve loved you through colic, sickness, grade school difficulties, high school dramas, nights you would sneak out of the house, exorbitant cell bills, your non-paid bills, your high school graduations, the end of your military career, your accidents, your hospitalizations, unfortunate incarcerations; driven you where you needed to be when you needed to be there, supported you emotionally, financially, and just about every possible way a mother can support her sons.
You both are grown.
You know…GROWN UP; adults; capable of making your own decisions, your own mistakes.
And mistakes you have made. PLENTY of them.
You’ve abandoned the home you purchased. You took (or took the rap for whomever did) something that did not belong to you. I have visited you in jail at every opportunity. I’ve gone into your mess of an abandoned home to try and salvage what I could of your belongings with the key you left me when you left the state and took off for points west, simply because you asked me to. I drove to and spent a weekend in DC to see you when you did something stupid and landed at Walter Reid Army Medical Center. I’ve driven you to Virginia to pick up the vehicle you had shipped to you. I’ve put cash in your jail canteen account, kept the account for your collect calls paid up so that you can hear a friendly voice at least once a week. I’ve tolerated verbal abuse at the hands of your fiance not once, but on two separate occasions, fielded nasty texts and messages, and made every opportunity to like the unlovable and disrespectful. I have lost more nights of sleep than I would like to admit to either of you.
That said? It’s over.
I raised you both to be the best men that you could be. That you went from straight A honor students to grown men that have made unfortunate decisions is not my fault, and I will no longer go out of my way to clean up the messes that both of you have made. That abandoned house with all the crap still in it? It will sit there. Unless you do it, the locks won’t be changed, the door won’t be replaced, and you can find your own cleaning crew and contractor. I’m out. You want to get out of jail? You better write someone loaded, because I refuse to put my home on the line to bail you out. I’m sorry, but this is why you are still sitting in jail almost four months after your arrest. I will continue to visit you, but I will no longer continue to spend hours trying to track down your attorney, find out what’s going on, or spend my days trying to find you another attorney you can’t afford, because, quite frankly? While I love you, I didn’t do this, and I have my own financial obligations to deal with, and will not take on yours.
I have spent my last sleepless night in tears because you did something stupid. I will no longer get upset because your “better half” is a rude, disrespectful, and mean. I will never again receive a verbally abusive text or message. Harassment is what it is; harassment. I don’t have to like her, and she doesn’t have to like me. After all, YOU, Son, are the one that has to live with her. I will no longer wrack my brains until I’m brain dead to try and figure a way to get you out of the legal predicament that has landed your tail in jail.
I will own up to the fact that, while trying to be the “good mom,” I’ve enabled the hell out of you both, and for that, I sincerely apologize.
I have learned a very valuable lesson in the 48 hours between the afternoon of April 2, when I spent the better part of my day in a courtroom, and today, after having lost a night of sleep because I was so upset that not only would you condone the verbal abuse of your own mom, you would be pissed at me for sticking up for myself. That lesson is this: I raised you, housed you, fed you, and supported you until well into adulthood.
As of right now? You boys are on your own.
I wish you every happiness, but I will no longer neglect my household in favor of trying to help you establish your own. I owe you that much.
Good luck, boys.