It is very early and relatively quiet in the house. Amidst the quiet a battle of epic proportion rages in my mind. Though the battle cannot be won or lost, it is fought relentlessly.
Yesterday we filed papers for Sam's guardianship.
The battle is intense. The practical side of my brain shouts your son cannot care for himself. He cannot make appropriate decisions. You must protect him. You have no choice. The emotional side counters, but you've taken away every freedom. Every freedom. Do you have the right to do this? It will be all but impossible to reverse. And the practical side argues back, the odds of ever needing reversal are near zero. It had to be done. There was no other choice.
I don't know. I don't know.
And inexplicably come tears for something I've known about for years, forcing me to admit I still held onto a false hope that somehow, some magic or some angel would swoop in and make it all right.
But there is no magic; there are no angels I can see. I dry my face, take a deep breath and take the first steps toward acceptance. I remind myself nothing has really changed but a piece of paper. There is a puppy nipping at my ankles, the coffee maker makes its normal hissing sounds. The refrigerator hums in the background. It is raining as predicted. The July flowers are blooming as they always do. I hear the ordinary sounds of Sam waking upstairs, unaware. It is just another July day.
And life goes on.