Catching My Breath

You plunged a knife deep in my heart, twisted it with you small, smooth fingers and left it there.

It must have punctured a lung because suddenly I couldn’t breathe. You didn’t witness my body crumple to the ground, or see the imaginary blood rushing to my injury, preventing me from thinking, speaking, moving. You were six thousand miles away, hunched over a plastic chair in the corner of an office, making yourself as small as possible as kids rushed by outside, late for class or lunch or the large gathering at the teen center you never joined.

I can never catch my breath, because I love you so much.

I can no longer remember a time when I wasn’t searching for your safe place. That elusive space where I could make you whole. My heart beats with marathon strength as I spend every waking hour running toward it. But when I get there and finally take a breath, the safety dissolves. And so I must keep running.

I can’t imagine what it feels like to be trapped in a body that doesn’t belong to you. When I gaze into your clear blue eyes I see the beautiful boy who fills my heart and soul with a love so powerful it takes my breath away. My beautiful son, you are my beautiful daughter. I cradle your soul with loving and supportive arms as you journey toward the person you were born to become. The person who doesn’t match the body that brought you into this world.

But I can never catch my breath, because I love you so much.

You assured me time and again that you were good. That I could take my exhausted body for some rest. A rare opportunity to visit another country. I convinced myself you understood self care and how much I needed it. How much I needed to breathe.

Your text messages scattered with your usual heart emojis and funny symbols comforted me. You were surrounded by caring people, our pets, your usual routine.

The phone call from school arrived in the middle of the night. The message cut through the receiver and plunged into my heart, protruding from my chest as I struggled to breathe.

Elevated suicide ideation.

The safe place dissolved. Of course it did. I had to start running again. But where?

Black and white thinking wipes the color from life-giving thoughts. It robs you of the ability to see the beauty created by the compilation of small, meaningful gains that paint color into our lives. Into your life.

My beautiful, fragile child, you are so full of love. For me, our beloved pets, our home. For every helpless creature that crosses your path. Why can’t you extend this love to yourself? Why is your love not strong enough for you to see the colors around you?

I now understand that chasing safe places is futile. Each destination merely an illusion if you haven’t built the path to get there. Brick by brick, cementing the gaps to ensure stability.

But there’s no time to build the path because you are too far ahead. So I keep running that heart pounding, desperate run. Maybe the next safe place will be the one. Maybe next time we can breathe.

I spent the entire night and into the morning creating your next safe place. You are fine, you tell me. The therapist assures me you don’t intend to harm yourself. At some point this new place will dissolve, but six thousand miles away, I pray for it to last.

In the morning I hike miles from the Italian castle where I’d sought my rest, collapsing in a large meadow deep in the Italian countryside of Umbria. The meadow sits high above a beautiful valley dotted with trees, farmhouses and stunning white cows. I’d been instructed not to worry about the network of fences criss crossing the countryside. “Troverai sempre un passaggio,” I was told. You will always find a pass through.

You pressed a knife against your flesh to see how it felt. It was dull, you told the therapist. Just an experiment, the therapist assured me.

You pressed a knife against your flesh. You said if you did it, you’d want to make sure someone cleaned up the blood before I saw you.

But you don’t have a real plan, I am told. You have a need and a desire to change, to continue on your journey.

My beautiful child, I am searching for the pass through to find you but you are already miles ahead, charting your own course on a path I cannot see. Are you traveling toward a safe place?

Please, please wait for me to catch my breath, because I love you so much.