Monday, 09262022

A huge part of my grieving is self-blame. My son was more likely me. I remember growing up, I was absorbed in fantasizing and imagining the future. Often, idle and lost in daydreaming. Poof, maybe a genetic anomaly could have caused his mental illness.

I thought I did my best to help Enzo have a rewarding life but how can happy times be outweighed by his struggles and heartbreaks? I can’t stop thinking about how he suffered and how I was unable to help him. I don’t know if I can ever move forward. I feel like I am slowly going down the drain. In spite of all the love and support from James and Vito, I still have doubts about my motherhood. James reminded me how wonderful a mom I was to Enzo… I was this and that… pointing out all the things we did… I did it out of love to help him cope but I could not see them. Why is it not enough to save him? How can he say, I am a wonderful mom when I totally failed our son?

There are days I wanted to punish myself. Today is one of them. I am guilty of failing him. As a mother, I should be there to love and cherish him, to look after him, and shield him from harm. But I wasn’t there. He felt alone when he snapped.  He went out, away from his brother… And end his sufferings. Left me doubting, did I really love him enough, did I care enough.