MY MARIAN STORY : MY SON’S PAINFUL ANGER, MY GRIEF AS A MOTHER AND REDEMPTION

I am printing this story which  was shared with the rosary prayer group of the WWBM on  August 20, 2021.  I was requested then to share a Mama Mary story. It is a painful mother and son story and I thank my son profusely for his generosity in allowing this to be printed in the AAA website. The original audio-visual sharing may be viewed via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BtLVUHdt9EE

My Marian story is a story I have never shared. It is also not just my story.  It is also the story of Manuel, my 24 year old son. Manuel stands tall at over 6 feet.  He is my gentle giant.  But he was not always so gentle.

I have always been opinionated, strongly so.  And when it came to my mothering, my personality was all-knowing, decisive, ultra protective and in hindsight,  pretty suffocating and one-sided when it came to communicating with my son.  There were clues along the way.  In Grade 1, Manuel started exhibiting signs of Tourette Syndrome.  He started having excessive involuntary muscular twitches.  First his right eye twitched, then his left, then his face and head, then his shoulders, then his entire torso would twitch uncontrollably and involuntarily.    I was told that this was an anxiety response.  We later  discovered that he was stressed because in his child’s mind, some of his school’s rules seemed to conflict with mine; and he was stressed to the point of involuntary muscular movement just at the thought of disobeying me.  Happily, he does not remember much of this now. His Tourette went away ,but apparently his anxiety did not. I should have taken notice then. 

Fast forward a few years.  Manuel was in high school.  At this time, he was towering over me by over a head.  He was a big, strong boy.  And I felt the strength of his size when he started getting fits of rage:   big , loud, ugly fits of extreme, unbridled anger . We would get into terrible shouting matches, then he would  lock himself up in his room, throwing shelves, books, small cabinets, chairs.  Once, to my extreme fright, he got hold of a hammer and started pounding violently, destroying things in his room.  Another time, he tried running away.   I tried everything to calm him in his rages but nothing I said nor did reached him.   It became so bad, that one day, when the thrashing in his room was reverberating throughout the house,  I unlocked his room and dared to enter.  What I saw was Manuel, and yet , not quite Manuel.  Because when I looked into his eyes, the innocent wonder and the open-faced smile I used to see in him were gone.  Instead, I saw raw anger,  despair and wild, uncontrolled resentment.  I also sensed darkness in him and that terrified me to the bottom of my soul. He was shouting and crying and foaming at the mouth.  He was shaking with so much rage and  was hitting out at everything he could hold.  He was yelling at me to leave because  he might accidentally hurt me. But which mother runs away from her child?   I ran to him and hugged him tight.  He struggled and bellowed so loudly, I hear it until now.  It was a long , wild, feral cry and I felt that Manuel was slipping into a deep, dark abyss  where I could not follow, nor bring him back.  No longer knowing what to do, I clung to him; and in  desperation, I started praying the Hail Mary at the top of my voice.  I begged Mama Mary: “Please, please bring back my son. “ I  kept telling Manuel, “ I love you Manuel.  Come back to Mommy”. I remember  that it felt like I was fighting a darkness that was trying to take over my son.  I don’t know how many Hail Marys I prayed, praying as loud as I could so Manuel could hear me over his shouting.  That afternoon , after countless bouts of rampant rage and uncontrollable anger, for the first time,  Manuel’s rage calmed down. He stopped shaking and crying. He became quiet as I rocked him in my arms, still praying the Hail Mary.   And later,  whenever Manuel was again on the brink, I would hug him and pray the Hail Mary; and my son’s heaving shoulders would still.

I knew then that something was very wrong.  Manuel needed professional help.  Dra Carandang, a psychologist who was known to help children, started counselling Manuel.

As it turned out, many things caused my son’s anxiety.  Actually, I was one of them.  Truthfully, I was a large part of that anxiety.  It broke my  heart and till this day, it brings me so much pain, that out of great love for him, my mothering drove him to Tourette and to rages that drove us to seek professional help.

I had to change. I knew that if I was the problem, I could also be the solution. But I did not know how because I thought I was loving and parenting my son as best as I could.  There were no books on how to deal with this and I was so ashamed of my failure as a mother that I could not seek counsel even from my own mom and dad nor from anyone I knew.  How did I go so wrong when all I ever did was to love my son?    For some reason, one night,  while praying  the Sorrowful Mysteries, the picture of Mama Mary quietly grieving at the base of Jesus’ cross, struck me.  In my grief-filled, guilt-crippled mind,  her quiet dignity under the cross was like an epiphany.  And it was then that I thought:  I am an imperfect mother.  But all my life, when in trouble, I have always beseeched Mama Mary, and she always answered.  She was the perfect mother.  It was then that I asked myself, what part of Mama Mary’s mothering could I use as a model for my own?  I tried, in my very imperfect way, to think of how she would mother my son.  She would certainly let Manuel make his own decisions, trusting that even if he made mistakes, he would learn from them.  She would certainly listen quietly, much as she listened quietly to Jesus’ last words under the cross.  She wouldn’t jump in, nor nag him nor drown out Manuel’s voice.  She would certainly not get into shouting matches with him.  She would respect the dignity of Manuel as an individual, and not project her hopes, dreams and expectations on him.  She would let him have his own.  He was a growing man, after all.   When in doubt, which happened often,  I asked myself,  “What would Mama Mary do?”

Fast forward to today.   My son is not just my son.  He is also one of my best friends.  One of my greatest joys is when he comes to my room  to chat with me about his day and to ask me for a hug. Recently, for Mother’s Day, he wrote me:  “Thank you for all the love you give me, Gaby and Pa.  It is always evident in everything you do.  I love you, Mom.“ And for Easter this year, his card to me read “ Thank you for always making me feel like everything will be okay and that I’ll be okay too.  I love you.”

Manuel is okay.  He no longer devolves into rages and he discovered the strength of prayer .  He joined  the Antioch Youth Ministry group in Forbes.  He has been a very active team leader there.   He has taught me to create  a “circle of silence” when we talk.  And in that circle, he can say anything and all I have to do is listen.  Sometimes, simply listening without judgement, but with great love ,is enough.

So this is my Mama Mary story.  In the depths of my despair, at the height of my son’s terrible anger, I prayed the Hail Mary and begged Mama Mary to bring back my son.  In the depths of my despair, at the lowest point of my painful recognition that I was a failure as a mother, I looked up to the perfect mother and tried to model my mothering after her.  I am still very imperfect. I am extremely flawed and I am nowhere close; but she gives me a guiding star always.

This is my Mama Mary story.  It is Manuel’s too and he gave me permission to tell this story.  And I think he may be listening now, so , Manuel and Gabriel, as I always tell you:  you and your father are the sun, the moon and the stars of my life. I love you as much as the whole wide world. You are my whole wide world.

In ending, I offer this to Mama Mary and thank her, as always, from the bottom of my heart. And each day, before my sons leave  home for any reason, I pray over them.  I pray the Hail Mary, always the Hail Mary. Because Mama Mary is their mother too. She is my mother.  She is your mother.  She is the mother of us all. 

Thank you and may Mama Mary, the most perfect Mother of all, always be a part of our daily lives.