The Apology

We entered Rancho San Antonio County Park parched from drought. Still, the smell of sun-scorched grass and arid, dusty dirt brought a familiar comfort.

We found a parking spot near the empty horse trailers.

My son’s 6’2’’ frame shadowed mine as we headed to the trail in silence. The crunch and cadence of our steps rhythmic. The beat carried us down the path.

I didn’t know the right moment for my confession. I just knew it would come.

We hiked the park’s open preserve, as Bay and Oak trees provided us with a canopy of shade.

I turned ever so slightly, staying in stride, and said, “Nick I owe you an apology for never understanding what you were going through. I am truly sorry.”

His initial reaction, a subtle head tilt in my direction, surprise in his eyes.

Nothing said, but I knew that look.

“That’s OK,” he answered.

“No, it’s not Nick. I am so sorry and I want you to know,” holding back tears.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

We walked a few more paces in silence when he stopped mid-step, turned to me, and said, “Can I have a hug.”

“Of course,” squeezing him tight.

I was apologizing for all my actions. The times I accused him of being lazy, unfocused, unmotivated. For not understanding the invisible war he battled for years. I was apologizing for all my years of ignorance. For not understanding mental illness.

He needed no explanation. He understood, and I knew it.

My son had fallen victim to a diabolical brain illness that seeded itself during middle school, grew through high school, and turned his life into hell once he entered college. This illness escaped everyone’s notice for more than eight years, while my son struggled to hold onto life’s third rail.

I finally saw him. I no longer judged. I accepted him and acknowledged the trauma and pain he had been going through.

I finally got it.

A lightness replaced the deep tension that had gullied its way into our relationship. An energy shift, only a mother’s and child’s love can feel. The moment was transformational.

My guilt started to subside. He quietly had forgiven me with a gentle thank you and deep, loving bear hug.

We walked for an hour, a simple hike to a familiar farm that turned into a forgiving milestone.