Disappointment

I watched my son as his request was denied. In the matter of microseconds, his face grew dark, his shoulders sank, he turned to hide his countenance, and escaped to his room. On the way, his pace quickened and his feet grew heavier. The door slammed and he crawled into bed and pulled the covers over his head.

He was disappointed, embarrassed, and confused. Some thing had risen in his soul and was swatted away. My idealistic nine year-old caught a vision of something amazing, but his hopes were dashed on the rocks and quickly sank into a sea of hopelessness. At that moment, the one thing that mattered most was taken from him — and with it, every other hope he possessed.

I’ve known this feeling. Too often, I’ve experienced it. And yet, I didn’t know what it was, or what to do with it once I had it. It sneaks up on me — out of the blue — and then I don’t know what to do with it. And now I see it happening to my Smiling Son.

A week or two ago, while telling my kids goodnight, I noticed something askew. My comment was met with silence so I tried to explain myself. The more I tried to explain, the less clear I was. It was a stupid thing — not really worth the time or effort I was giving it, but I had this incredible, insatiable need to be understood. The more I tried to be understood, the less clear — and the more frustrated I became.

Then it hit me — not only did my hope of being understood evaporate, but so did everything else that was roving in my naively idealistic heart. Hopelessness overtook me and I knew no options. So, I escaped.

But one cannot escape. We can hide, but we can’t escape.

And that’s where the real insult creeps in. What does one do with they don’t have the tools to fix a problem they’ve stumbled into? Neck deep in despair, surrounded by darkness, and disoriented by the circumstances, one becomes stupefied by fear.

But society asks us to trudge on. Responsibilities persist. Family beckons. One’s heart continues to beat. Yet, without hope, without a will, and without vision — there is no path forward.

So, I put on a hollow veneer of survival, but it is empty. Sometimes it takes days to recover — to heal. It is a horrible state to be in, and unbelievably, from my perspective, there is no way out. Time heals — and at a minimum, allows one to put it all into perspective.

Watching my son experience this allows me to introspect my my own path. I cannot help but realize that 50 years of disappointment has taken a toll on me. For five decades I’ve been seeking a pathway out of this morass, but without much success. My motivation to resolve this veritable quandary is no longer for myself — but for my son’s sake.

I’m hoping others too can learn.