It’s been three days since my son (21M) stopped talking to me (43F). He won’t eat on his own, he won’t bathe. I’m worried about him; he’s been so different lately. I wish things could be the way they were before…
My son has always been special. When I had him, he was underweight by 3 pounds. He was born with complications that made me scared he’d never live a full life. I remember how much I prayed to God that he would make it through, that he wouldn’t take my baby away from me as he allowed my husband to walk away. Yohan is all I have. He is all that I have. God answered my prayers, and my son lived through his birth night to become a beautiful boy. He was special, a gift from the High Father, and I knew I would never betray His blessings.
I will admit, I am a protective mother. I did it because I wished for Yohan to grow into a fine man, to be strong as the holy texts wished upon the followers of the High Father. Yohan had a very particular diet, and I was the only one capable of putting it together. I made sure to always mix his medication with his meals – he never liked swallowing pills. I knew from watching him grow that he was an energetic boy, that he wanted to play ball like the other children in the neighborhood. However, Yohan was just too frail, too weak to play those games. I often caught him sneaking out of the door to play, and on one too many occasions, I’d find him roughhousing with the neighborhood hoodlums. He wasn’t in any condition to do that, and I would constantly worry about his health.
On one particular day, when he was attending school, I received a call from his teacher. Yohan had gotten injured playing on the monkey bars and broke his arm. I had always instructed the teachers to never allow Yohan to participate in those activities. He was too weak; he was born with a weak body, so he couldn’t do those things! They betrayed my trust in the schooling system, and I immediately withdrew Yohan from public school.
I began homeschooling Yohan when he was 13. I taught him every subject he needed to know, most importantly about our Lord, the High Father. He attended every Saturday mass, every Tuesday study, and he enjoyed every bit of learning. I watched over him closely, and he grew beautifully. At that time, everything was perfect. Then his 21st birthday came.
I remember during the evening as I began to prepare for his special day. We were going to give special thanks to the Lord. Yohan came into the kitchen as I prepared the goat head roast and his favorite chicken heart stew. He was fidgeting with his fingers, those long porcelain digits. He spoke in that maturing voice of his, so smooth to hear.
“Mother,” he called out to me, “do you have a moment?”
I remember closing the oven as the heat finished preparing. He was sweating profusely, his shirt stained with sticky wet marks, and his eyes darted left, then right, then to my face. I was curious about what could have had a grip on him so badly that he looked sickly. His marble-colored skin was dyed red along his ears and cheeks. He seemed haggard and kept brushing away the strands of hair over his forehead and back to the neatly made part in his hair. I remember how my brows wrinkled at his demeanor.
“What is it that you’re acting so odd, Yohan? Out with it,” I demanded.
He shrank away from me when I asked, looking terrible as if I had accused him of murder. It broke my heart to see him like this on his special day. I tried to suppress my frustration and put on a mask to control the icy hot flame of annoyance. When he saw my face relax, he finally found the confidence to speak up again.
“I have… I have a special request for you, Mother. I’m hoping you’d consider it, but only if it’s in your favor. I want to go to the local library,” he said, avoiding eye contact. His forehead was sweating and seemed to glisten under the lightbulbs’ rays.
I felt pity for Yohan. He was a young man in a big world, yet he didn’t seem to understand its dangers. He wanted to go to the local library, and I found myself scoffing at the idea. What could he possibly learn there that he couldn’t learn at home? But there was something else that left a bad taste in my mouth. This was the first time he had ever asked me for something. In all of his 21 years of life until that point, Yohan never made a request of me. To use such a rare instance for something so blasphemous… I should have told him no right then. It was my fault that Yohan fell prey to the world, that he became a victim of that woman. If I had told him no, if I had said, “You are not allowed to go, Yohan, and that’s final!” perhaps he wouldn’t be so broken.
Yohan had a certain look in his eyes, on his lips, and in his cheeks. He was expectant, but even more than that, I understood that he was despairing. On his special day, my baby boy wasn’t filled with happiness after turning 21. I caved in when I looked into his watering eyes, that face… God, I never want to see that face again. I told him, “Okay,” before I could get the rest out. He threw himself toward me and hugged me so tightly, it felt like he could crush me with those thin arms of his.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he shouted lovingly at me. I caressed his head and continued.
“I will drop you off and pick you up every time you wish to go, just behave yourself when you’re there. I worry about you, Yohan.” I made a point to schedule only a few hours for him to be there.
From that point forward, he and I would travel to the library. It continued like this for an entire month, during which time Yohan was the happiest I had ever seen him. There was color in his face, and often I would see a wide grin on his face. But one night, after picking Yohan up from the library, I found myself pondering his visits. He was so happy that he hardly registered half of my questions at times. He looked lost in thought, as if drifting in a dream. This behavior continued for months; he began neglecting his studies, sleeping during Saturday mass, and even choosing the library over Tuesday study. It broke my heart to see how he was slowly changing. Was he even my baby boy? I don’t know. But I had to know what was going on at the library that was changing him.
One day, when I dropped Yohan off at the library, I decided to watch over him instead of going to work as usual. Calling out sick was rather easy, after all. I waited cautiously before entering the building. The wretched place disgusted me the moment I walked in. The Lord says that the knowledge of us earth dwellers is tainted. How could I have let my only child delve into such horrors? I had hoped Yohan would understand that this world we lived in was full of sin. He was such a well-behaved boy that I hadn’t expected what I saw then.
Yohan was sitting at a table with a book in his hands, I believe it was a book on Aviation or something else, another blasphemy of trying to reach the heavens without his Lord’s blessings. I felt disgust seeing how absorbed my baby boy was in the book. Oh, my baby boy, my sweet Yohan. I wept at such horrible things, but the evil of this world knew no bounds. In the next moment, a woman who looked much older than him approached with a sly grin on her face. Her hand swept along his shoulders, and then Yohan began talking to her. The two chatted for what seemed like an eternity, and I felt nothing but utter revulsion. How could Yohan associate so happily with a woman other than his mother? Who was this woman? I snuck closer to hear their conversation; I still remember the vile words she shared with my naive son.
“Have you tried asking your mother to help apply for your FAFSA form?” she asked him. “You wanted to apply for St. John’s Community College, right?”
Yohan looked at her with that same defeated and disgusting look. I hated that look, but even more, I was pleased with his response.
“I don’t know, Ms. Miller. My mom, she… I don’t think she will like that.” I felt warmth in my chest. Good boy, Yohan.
But that woman, she sighed at my son’s smart words and spoke with a sinner’s tongue. I curse her to this day for what she dared to say to Yohan!
“Your mother is delusional, Yohan. From the things you told me, I think it’s best if you just got away from her. You’re 21 years old for God’s sake. You need to live your life,” she retorted.
I couldn’t stand to hear any more defamation from that woman’s mouth. I emerged from the corner of the bookshelves and presented only the truth to her. She was trying to separate me from MY son, MY child. Yohan wasn’t hers; he was MINE. After giving her a piece of my mind, I forbade my son from ever stepping foot in that hellhole.
Yohan was lost from the light of the High Father, but he will be saved. He will come to realize what he had done wrong, how evil the world is. I just needed to have a clearer conversation with that woman. Yohan had shut himself away into his room at that time and chose to only come out for meals and to bathe. I knew that in order to cleanse my son, I needed to make sure that the woman stayed far away from Yohan.
When night fell, I visited the library. I saw her closing the doors and bidding farewell to the other staff there. She was going to learn her place. I confronted her, telling her that our great Lord, the High Father, would chastise her for the evil she spoke to my sweet boy. Her corruption would no longer affect him, and he would stay with his mother! Because I KNEW WHAT WAS BEST FOR HIM! Her response? She tried to frame me as some crazy cultist who was slowly killing my son. She claimed she was going to save him from me? It was ridiculous. To think that she was saving my boy from me? What was there to save? I was protecting him, just as I did from those teachers who claimed I was mistreating him, and from those officials who called themselves “Child Protectors,” or whatever they were called. She was not going to take my boy, they were not going to take him. The High Father gave Yohan TO ME. They weren’t going to steal the blessing that was given to me for the sacrifice I made to have him. His father didn’t want him, they didn’t actually want him, only I, his mother, wanted Yohan.
After I spoke to that woman, a day or so passed when the news station covered her story. Apparently, she was stabbed over 40 times and left to die in the library’s parking lot. Good riddance to that disgusting cur. But when Yohan saw the news story, he put on that face. A face of despair. I remember asking him what was wrong, but he said nothing. He simply looked at me, still holding that face. He truly was his father’s son because it made me think of Joseph every time he made that look. That face as if everything about me was wrong. That look as if I was a monster. I am not a monster, Yohan, I am your mother. He didn’t want to listen to a word I had to say then and accused me of something terrible. He accused me of killing that woman.
It was ridiculous. It was not my fault that the woman was handed judgment from our God. He gave me the mission to protect my son as I always had, and I only did just that. It was not murder, it was… a baptism.
When I explained it to Yohan, he ran from me. He tried to run into his room, but I was not going to allow him to continue with such disrespect. Before he could clear the staircase, though, he fell when I grabbed him. I didn’t mean to hurt Yohan; I just wanted to talk to him. I would never hurt my baby boy, but he won’t listen to me. He just stares ahead blankly every time I try to talk to him. He doesn’t bathe himself anymore, he doesn’t eat on his own, let alone swallow his meals. He dares not to speak to me, as if I had done something terrible to him. My baby boy is shutting me out, and now he carries this odor, like his father did after a big fight we had. Please, I don’t want to lose my baby boy. But Yohan just won’t speak to me anymore. He’s scaring me. I love my son, and I’m only trying to do what’s best for him because I am his mother, and a mother always knows what’s best.