My Son

As I sit here writing, I am planning to go to the airport to meet my son, arriving from his home in Rwanda. He is not my biological son, but he is, as I like to call him, "the son of my heart." This has me thinking about the many friends I have in my life who see me as a mother and who are truly children of my heart. My sister also became a mentor to many younger women who viewed her as a "mother figure," and she referred to them as her adopted children. For those of us who chose not to have children of our own, this can be a vital part of our lives. We open our hearts and give our love to each other. While living in Africa, I found becoming a parent figure very easy. This was particularly true in Rwanda, where so much pain was experienced.

My son was an important part of my life while I lived there for 4.5 years. We met at the gym I attended. While living internationally, daily gym visits were an important part of my routine, and it was no different in Rwanda. At the time, I was pretty much of a gym rat and was there almost daily for about 3 hours at a time. I enjoyed the connection and the sense of movement and freedom I felt while there. There was a friendly camaraderie and teasing and, most importantly, a sense of community. In Rwanda, a country that had so recently experienced a genocide and basically a mass extinction of its people, this sense of community was strong. I have found Africa to be an amazing continent of people. Having lived in three different countries and visited many more, I always found a deep sense of welcome and warmth.

I will not refer to my son by his biological name, for reasons that will become clear as I write. Although I have referred to the warmth and openness of the people, it does not mean governments are without their dangers. When I met my son, he was my trainer. It gave him such glee to push me and to see just how far he could make this "old" woman move. Mind you, he is literally half my age, and if I remember correctly when I was that age, sympathy was not a virtue. As an example, this hotel had excellent equipment but it did not have a stair stepper. There was no need. Outside the gym area were five floors of steps with the traditionally high ceilings. I had the privilege of running those stairs, two at a time, three different sets. To say my legs were strong was truly an understatement. I used to go home barely able to remember my name but feeling exultant at what I could do. It always amazed me, and it kept me balanced in many ways. This was truly the same during all of the years I worked with trainers and physically pushed beyond preconceived limits. I have worked with some excellent individuals who knew how to take a "No" and make it an "I did it!"

I think of this, my own experience of resilience, whenever I think of my son. He lived through a genocide in which he lost his mother. When I lived in Rwanda, I heard so many stories of the loss of loved ones. My landlady saw her husband murdered in front of her because he was the wrong tribe. My son has given me permission to tell his story, and I look forward to doing so. We will be travelling for the next month, visiting friends old and new. As we travel, I hope to speak of his experience and what he heard, felt, and saw during those years. This is not told from the point of view of a victim, as he has never seen himself as one, but from what it means to survive and move beyond trauma and what it takes to do so. Of the courage it takes to keep going. 

I hope to speak of what his father experienced in having to raise three children after the death of his wife, when he, himself, was in pieces. And I hope to speak of what it has taken Rwandans to move beyond this trauma and to re-establish connection with relatives and neighbours who turned on each other. Rwanda lost one million people in three months during the genocide. Since then, neighbours who turned on each other, who even killed each other's families, have had to learn to live together. They had to reconcile feelings of revenge and hatred and learn to share a country again.

During the next month, as I travel with my son, I will tell his story. I am hoping to see through his eyes what it means to have survived this trauma and to move beyond the demons and devils into becoming a productive and emotionally stable adult who loves life. I am hoping to portray his story as one of loving acceptance of the world around him.

Join me as we travel together through this time. It is our story, as we all must move from a world based more on revenge and greed into a world that understands compassion, universal acceptance, and the recognition we are all the same Source.