Awake, His Soul
Chapter I: Reflections on a Stoic Child
*Hello, my lovelies! I'm baaack! This story is a little different from my typical work, so I hope you enjoy it.*
I sat on the porch of my family's new house and took a moment to enjoy the sights and smells around me. It was a cool spring morning, just past the frosty cold of winter. It was the time of year when everything seemed to come to life again.
I loved this time of year. It's almost as if everything becomes weary of hibernation and breaks out of its shell to display its vivaciousness.
I sighed wistfully, wishing that philosophy applied to everyone and everything. I knew that everyone had their moments of insecurity, and everyone had their moments when they wished to hide from the world. Sadly, there are some people for whom hiding is a lifestyle. No, not a lifestyle, a habit. A way of coping with the cruelty of life.
I knew that he was introverted by nature, and that he didn't know how to express himself. However, every time I saw him clench his fists or wince when the painful memories came flooding back, I wanted to help. As cruel as it sounded, I sometimes hoped that the pain would be enough to force him from his stone fortress and seek comfort in me. I'm his mother, after all; that's my job.
That's all I wanted to be. His mother. But, he wasn't looking for someone to take care of him. He hated it when people tried to do that. He was too stoic. He felt that his problems were his alone, and that he didn't need anyone to shepherd him. He always had his under-the-radar way of dealing with things that never really led to a clear resolution.
I supposed it all started in his human life. As a farmboy, he worked hard, and did so without complaint. In the Army, he had to shift his focus to keeping his men alive, fighting and planning battles, and protecting the country he served. He said that he had nothing to complain about because it would make him sound ungrateful for the things he did have, but I don't think that's completely true. I just think that, from such a young age, the poor dear was forced to put himself on the back burner. He became so selfless that he became unable to voice his own feelings for the fear of hurting us.
I told him time and time again that that's what I'm here for.
Mothers are supposed to protect their children from harm. They are supposed to listen to their children pour out their problems, and be there to dry their childrens' tears.
And he never let me. He never once told me that he needed to lend him an ear. I never had the opportunity to wrap my arms around him and hold him as he cried.
That's another thing. I knew he cried. He had to, for I know no one who could bear the things he'd gone through without letting off some steam. He never got angry or destroyed things, so tears had to be his method of catharsis. It just hurt me that he did not let me see it happen. It tore me apart that my son, my beautiful boy, was suffering in silence when I would gladly do anything in the world to ensure his happiness.
It was just the simple fact that his past would not let him trust. He trusted that I would not hurt him, but he could not allow himself to be vulnerable. He acted like the fact that he had weakness was classified information that could be used against him.
He told us not to take it personally when he refused our help, but we did. He felt that, and he felt guilty, but that was not enough to change his behavior. We knew it wasn't really his fault, but we still couldn't help but grieve as we saw him reject our outreaches. He had been taught a hard lesson: the only person who has the power to change one's life is oneself. The problem was that he took that lesson too literally.
My husband had once told him that just because he never had certain things in life doesn't mean that he doesn't need them now. My sweet boy had lived a life in which he was always alone, even in a crowd. He had known intimacy in his human life, but he was then deprived of it. He lived over a century without love and compassion, and because he survived, he had the misguided idea that one can truly live without those emotions. He needed love and care; he craved it more than anything. But now that it was offered, he had no idea how to accept it.
Instead, he lived inside an emotional prison, trapped with only his thoughts, and wishing to escape.