There are few things in life I am as proud of as my son, Alex. Actually, upon further consideration I can't think of a single thing I have ever done that makes me as proud as my son does everyday. He is turning into the sort of man I always hoped he would be. Don't get me wrong, at 16 he is far from perfect. He is still a teenage boy, after all. His room often looks like his dresser threw up onto the floor and it frequently smells like a noxious mix of gym shoes and something I still can't identify. I'm pretty sure we are single handily keeping the Fabreez company in business. If given the choice between reading a little extra Chemistry or playing X-Box - well, what do you think he would pick? When it counts, though, Alex never lets me down. Sometimes he even surprises me.
My ex-husband, Rick, and I have been divorced for about three years. In the divorce Rick got our house. The 130 year old house I searched for, found, fell in love with, decorated and cried over leaving. The house he originally didn't even want to live in, he now wanted. In the end it was worth it, though. I may have lost the house, but I found my home in Brian.
Since our divorce, Rick has remained in the home we once shared, though the fate of the house now hangs in peril. Due to the recession, the company Rick worked for was forced to cut all overtime, which hurt - a lot. Things got tighter and tighter until one day he was laid off altogether. For months he looked for work, unable to find anything that would make ends meet. He finally resorted to collecting unemployment, though even that didn't pay all the bills. The mortgage fell further and further behind. He worked diligently with the mortgage company to find a solution but has now exhausted all the options. Short of a miracle, it appears Rick will have to quickly sell the house or risk foreclosure.
While I have known about the house situation for several weeks now, Rick and I agreed it would be better not to tell Alex until he had to know. Rick decided this weekend it was time to lay his cards on the table with our son. Understandably, Alex was upset - very upset, but not in the way I expected. He was rather quiet but supportive with Rick. When he came home Sunday night, I could tell something was bothering him. As he told me I could see him fighting back tears. "I know you're going to miss the house, sweetie, we all are." I said. "Mom, it's not that." he sobbed, "I feel like I'm watching Dad lose everything. His truck is going to die any day now, he is going to lose the house...." he trailed off. "I feel like I need to move back with him, get a job and help him." he said, crying even harder.
"Alex, I know how much you want to help Dad, but it's not your job to take care of either of us. It's our job to take care of you." I said, trying to think of some way to comfort him.
"I know, but family always takes care of family. That's what you've always said." he sobbed.
I was silent. I looked at my son and was struck by the poignancy of the moment. My little boy, who now towers over me at 6'2", was at a crossroads. He was caught between the blissfully naive shelter of childhood and the cold, hard reality of adulthood. He wanted desperately to help his father fix his plight but was feeling the desperate pain of not knowing how. All the times he had "helped" his dad before flashed through my mind. Pictures of Alex proudly helping his father fix a bicycle or work on the car flooded my brain. I was struck by the pain my child was in, knowing he wouldn't be able to help his dad this time, and I wanted to cry for him.
I spoke to Rick last night and told him about Alex's reactions. He too, was silent for a while. We may not agree on much anymore but one thing Rick and I both share in common is our unending admiration for our son who has grown from a chubby cheeked little boy to a young man who values family and takes it personally when they fall on hard times. I love you, Alex, more than you could possibly know.
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