He called me mommy on his second day in my home.
People said, “Oh, how sweet!” Sweet? Not really. Totally emotionally dysfunctional? Definitely.
Imagine your own child, ripped from your home for whatever reason…any reason at all…and plopped into someone’s living room. Then given a bed and told they live there now. Now imagine your beloved child, the very next day, hugging that stranger and calling her mom as if you never existed at all. Now is it sweet?
So when on the second day in my home he called us ‘mom and dad’ about thirty times, as if he loved the way it rolled off his tongue, I was extremely concerned. When I hear the word “mom” I get visuals of my own mother; the smell of baking bread, the feel of soft hands, the soft touch of pure comfort. When he says mom…what does he feel? Nothing?
I wondered about his mom. What did she do that he could totally alienate her so quickly? Was there once a time when she held him close, felt his heart beat against hers, and longed to never let go? I like to imagine he experienced that….at least once in his early years. That he felt her love. That he pushed himself into her soft lap and snuggled close
I like to think ….if just for a moment…that he knew he was special.
And then he tugs on my arm and says, “Mom?” for the eighth time that day and I realize that for him…that moment is right now.