Chapter III: Advantage

*Hmmm. ~rereads story~ This really is better than I remember. Thank you for being patient with me while I wrestled with continuing the story.*

I, too, looked downward, feeling incompetent. I wondered when mothering became so hard. When it became something that was nerve-wracking guesswork rather than instinct and love.

I guessed that I had it easier than most mothers, though. My children were very self-sufficient, and the only real rule that my husband and I enforced was "be responsible". However, it wasn't always that simple. Some of our children required more upbringing than others.

Jasper, in a way, was the most childlike. He tried to act like he was an adult who had things all figured out for himself, but he didn't. He was almost like an incredibly intelligent yet defiant toddler—requiring attention and worry but being too stubborn and persuasive to let people get their way with him.

I pondered that. How could I possibly parent someone with three different age groups: two, twenty, and over one hundred all at the same time?

I looked back at him, noticing that his sadness had turned into awkwardness and self-consciousness. He was looking at me with a strained facial expression, once more unable to voice what he wanted. But I thought I knew. He was uncomfortable with my presence. In the simplest possible words, he didn't want me there.

I couldn't bear to make him uneasy anymore. I had wondered how to take care of him, but the truth was that it was impossible. Just the act of trying to offer him my comfort was too much—I was at a loss for how to help him, and he no longer understood how to be loved. The harshness of the life he had lived had taken away any chance of that. It killed me to know that no matter what I did, I would not affect him in the way he needed.

Even worse than the pain, though, was the fear. My biggest concern was that if I gave in to what he seemed to want me to do, he'd take it the wrong way. It would cause him to believe that we truly didn't care, or that we saw him as a burden. He'd withdraw further, whether it be internal, or by leaving the family altogether.

I shook my head slightly, almost as an external response to an internal quandary. I couldn't let that happen.

And so I was back at square one.

I went back to thinking more about who I was dealing with. His traits, his vulnerabilities, what his present attitude was telling me…

One thought kept coming back to me. My youngest son told me that in his mind, the turmoil was so great that he had no idea what he wanted—even the most basic needs were a mystery to him. There was no clearly defined plan or desire; only a hope for recovery, but not the vaguest idea how to reach it. One moment he thought he needed to be feared, one moment to be ignored, one moment to be chastised as the monster he thought himself to be. He thought these reactions would help him toward his goal.

But they didn't.

If he was lost as he said, wouldn't he be grasping at straws trying to make progress? Grabbing hold of anything that resembled positivity?

At that moment, I realized that his insecurity and confusion were my greatest allies. After all, if he really was as lost as I was told, he may be desperate enough to listen to my guidance. If I told him some of the thoughts that had dwelled in me for so long, and led him to believe that I'd help him, it may stir enough hope to keep him going... right?

I heard his drawl coming out to reach me. It sounded worried, not calm and even like usual. "What's the matter?" he urged.

I took a breath and looked up to the face of my son. I no longer saw self-hate, but concern. I flashed him a smile and he returned it, poking relief at me. Now that things were a little less tense, I had a better starting point to dive in from, and I was grateful to be going in with an advantage.