What does it mean to be nostalgic? I found out after seeing the man my son grew into.
Nostalgia can be described as a sense of longing for something, or someone, that is no longer in your life – perhaps it is even unattainable.
For many, the feeling of nostalgia can be quite easily combatted by indulging in something you are nostalgic towards, whether it be an old game you used to play; a movie you watched with your parents/grandparents as a child or maybe by visiting somewhere you used to visit with your moved on or late partner.
For me, my nostalgia cannot be satisfied as I am nostalgic towards someone who no longer exists: my son.
My son, who for anonymity purposes I will refer to as Peter, was a wonderful child. He was intelligent, he was athletic (and an exceptionally gifted quarterback, should he have chosen to go down this path) and he was in every meaning of the word my wonderful little boy.
Most parents will often lovingly complain about their children and how difficult they are through various stages of their lives: a baby that keeps them up at night, a toddler who is perhaps a little too destructive for their own good, an adolescent who is a little too loud and – the most feared – a predictably moody teenager rebelling against all forms of society, parents included.
I never had this problem at any stage, even despite being a single mother (Pete’s father left me, and Pete, when our son was just 1 years old). That is until Pete became an adult.
Pete more than succeeded at his studies, graduating high school as a topper, before moving onto an Ivy League University to study finance. This was a surprise to me as Pete, at least to me, had never shown interest in mathematics.
He was good at it, yet, astoundingly so at times, but he found it “quite boring” (his words) and wished to pursue his athletic dream of playing in the NFL.
Yet, he decided on finance because “well, I am good at it and it is more achievable, with better longevity, than a football career.” Can’t argue with that, fair enough.
After finishing his studies, Pete moved to New York to become a stockbroker on Wall Street and this is the moment where everything changed and I began losing my son.
He began indulging in late nights at shady clubs in New York and, worse, he developed my worst fear: a drug habit. Cocaine, to be exact.
Though he likely felt on top of the world, living this brutal, chaotic and addictive New York lifestyle, to me, as an outsider, I was losing the one thing I had in my life: my son.
I questioned if I was being overreactive, whether I was being too judgmental and whether I was being far too critical of a son who had always been perfect and came through in the end. Sadly, I would be proven right.
Pete was arrested one night in 2017 as part of a police bust. I don’t understand finance and I won’t pretend otherwise, so I can’t, and won’t (again for anonymity), go into detail… but my boy, my perfect Pete, had become involved in some embezzling scheme which was making him amounts of money I had never thought possible.
Worse, when his house was raided as part of the investigation, large amounts of cocaine – to sell, not even for self-use – were discovered and Pete was sent to prison.
Women, drugs, money… his life had spiraled out of control all because of one move to New York which I wish I could have prevented from happening. I feel terrible and, I hate to admit, but for the first time in my life, I feel ashamed.
I love my son. I always will. He deserves a chance to serve his time and make amends with God, me and everyone he wronged. The wounds are still fresh, though, and the nostalgia I once felt for spending time with my son are currently tarnished. Hopefully, in time, everything works out for Pete and I can get my little boy back.
Post a Comment