My heart aches, yet it has been aching routinely for years now, as tides shift so suddenly and without warning. The latest being the exchange following the request to leave more room on the driveway. That went south so quickly, and the stance being taken that the truths I speak are lies allows for no dialog, no understanding, no clarification or willingness on his part to accept that he can not charge his car, drive ours, leave urine unflushed, clothes in the sink, shoes in the clothes dryer, or any number of other behaviors that reveal a deep sense of entitlement.
His silent treatment and stonewalling are also indicative of seeing myself and Jennifer as other than supportive parents that have done all we can while taking all we can for years, routinely attempting at each breaking point to reset and realign.
Rush Creek had been, like Catalina, a space for doing so. Will it ever again?
I re-read that Catalina post last night after learning that Lauren had begun reading the book. It was hard to recognize how the pendulum has swung so violently since then. Peace may be its next apex, but accepting it as being as temporary as I hope the animosity will be takes a good deal of strength and resolve. And it might be more in my head than intended, but it's all I have to work with.
Like his mother, this too has lessons to learn from. They're just hard. Most growth is.