Words from a Mother’s Heart
by
Laurie Lerner
All rights reserved
Copyright © November 2011, Laurie Lerner
Cover Art Copyright © 2011, Charlotte Holley
Gypsy Shadow Publishing
Lockhart, TX
www.gypsyshadow.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing.
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DEDICATION
To my son Adam . . . who has taught me more than I can ever teach him.
My Story
I have my own individual story, and my own special pain
I am not a super hero; I have no fortune or any fame
I am a little boy, who never got the chance to pick my birth mother
If I knew she would do drugs, I would have surely picked another
My chances in the womb were labeled slim to none
Believe me it was difficult, it was not nine months of fun
My birthfather was no better; he was addicted to drugs as well
Both were not able to keep me, it makes my eyes start to swell
I was adopted at birth and given away before I awoke
My adopted father had enough before I even spoke
I was now alone with my adoptive mother who gave it her all every day
Still I had so many unanswered questions what does anyone expect me to say?
My problems started at birth which caused hundreds of tears
From anger and aggression to communication with my family and with peers
I am now old enough to speak now; my life, an open book
I am so much more than my mental illness, please take a closer look.
50 Inches Tall
My very little boy it has sure been a ride
A few years after birth you have hit, stolen and lied.
I signed up for a trip to the mountains with LOTS of fresh air
And ended up at a foreign place where nothing I find is fair
I thought love would be gentle, caring and kind
I never expected to go completely out of my mind
My life is filled with anger, tantrums and hours of rage
I sometimes feel I need to put you in a cage
My life is consumed with meds and changing them all the time
And what is the best therapist with your insurance I can find
My daily language is “special needs” and adjusting his “IEP plan”
Sometimes I sit and ponder will he ever be a productive man?
My days are filled with apologizing to people I hardly know
For things he has kicked, hit or even tried to throw
I hardly feel like a person–saying stop! Or no all the time
Will I ever get to be myself again happy sweet and kind?
My mornings are horrific mostly bargaining for a good day
I am always overwhelmed and end up yelling what I have to say
My nights are filled with time outs and punishments galore
If he does not like what’s going on his fists go through the door
It is a 24/7 job with no benefits in sight at all
And this person I speak of is only 50 inches tall
Guilt
Reaching toward the sky, to quiet his mind for awhile
Looking up at the stars to attempt to find an answer
Angry at God for this broken gift I have received
Sick to my stomach for being so selfish
There are many worse tragedies than this
Some days I want to trade in.
Diagnosis Dance
They said you had severe ADHD
I thought it was something lacking in me.
They changed their minds to Aspergers high functioning that is
I did not feel sufficient I took a parenting quiz
Their minds changed again, it was absolutely ODD
People told me to try harder, attempt to let him roam free
Oh wait, I was told, he is bipolar for sure!
Medicate his moods; I know your intentions are pure
A decade later I found out just by chance
Their whole life they can do the diagnosis dance
The Phone
The phone rings. I do not want to answer it
I squirm and I move, and I cringe and I cry
It is the school calling again, with a problem—come pick him up
I do not want to go to the school again this week to pick him up. The phone rings again, only louder.
I ask myself, what did he do today? Oh God help me. Please just this once?
Hesitantly, I pick up the phone. In a barely audible voice
Hello?
Oh, hi Mom. Yes of course, everything is perfectly fine.
The Question
My son asked me, “Mommy, why don’t you have freckles all over your face like I do?”
I looked at him not expecting this question for what seemed like minutes,
I replied, “Son, your freckles on your face are drops of gold dust put there specifically by G-d,
to never ever let you forget just how special you are.”
He stared at me for a very long time and said,
“Mommy, you might not really be that special to G-d, but you are special to me.”
The Fantasy
I had a fantasy in my mind of the perfect son
I wanted so bad to have, “the perfect son”