Letting Go of Fear - When Denial is a Good Thing

That's my oldest son, sitting proudly on his brand-spankin' new motorcycle, moments after rolling it off the showroom floor last July. His excitement that day was palpable. I think the last time he'd been that excited was on his 2nd birthday when his dad and I presented him with his first car - a little red (battery operated) corvette.

His excitement that day was equal to my fear. As I snapped that photo that day, I was smiling at his excitement, even as I was internally panicking. I wanted to be happy for him, was happy for him on one level, but equally afraid on another.

The idea of my sweet little boy (okay, yes, I get that he isn't a little boy anymore...that's beside the point) cruising along at 65 mph on the freeway with cars zooming past him...well, suffice it to say, even now, the thought makes me physically shudder. There is no fear quite like that of a parent for the life of their child. If you let it, it can consume you.

I drove my son completely nuts for the first few weeks, with nearly constant reminders to be careful, to remember that motorcycles are virtually invisible to other drivers, to be sure he was ultra-aware of his surroundings, etc. etc. etc. I knew I was driving him crazy. I knew I was being the stereotypical, over-protective mother, but I couldn't quite help myself.

Everyone I know who rides, or has ever ridden, has put their bike down at least once, if not more than once, and the thought of the potentially life-threatening reality of my son doing so at some point, was, to put it mildly, causing me to go a little out of my mind. I joked to him and to others, that I'd never have a peaceful night's sleep again, and I was only half-joking. It didn't take long for me to realize that if I didn't somehow find a way to let go of my fear, I really wouldn't ever have a peaceful night's sleep again.

My son was 20 when he bought that bike. No longer a child, and living on his own. It was out of my control and there was nothing I could do to ensure his safety, or to change his mind about riding a bike. He's 21 now, living in California, and he rides that bike every day. He doesn't own a car, and has no plans to purchase one. He rides that bike, day or night, sun or rain, clear skies or (gasp!) through thick, early morning (as in 3am) fog.

Last week, the rear tire went flat while he was traveling 55+ on a winding stretch of two-lane highway. As he described the tail end of the bike suddenly going wild, the only thing that kept me from having a heart attack right then and there was the fact that his voice on the phone proved he'd survived the scare unharmed.

If I allowed myself to think about, to envision, the possible dire consequences of his passion for riding, I would literally go out of my mind. So, I don't. I simply do not think about it. Most of the time.

Occasionally, the thought that the middle of the night phone call I most dread might come, does unwittingly enter my mind, as it did last night as I was drifting off to sleep. The fear gripping my heart like an icy-cold, iron vise. The thought that I could lose my son so unbearable, that I simply must shut it out again.

It's a form of denial that serves me well. It's the kind of denial that is, indeed, a very good thing. A sanity-saving thing. While denial is not something I would normally recommend as a healthy coping strategy, in instances where the circumstances that elicit fear are completely and totally out of your control, there's nothing much else to do. It serves no purpose, whatsoever, to allow fear to become a constant companion.

Denial then becomes a means by which to let go of the fear. It allows me to look at the photo of my son on his bike, and smile. Smile at how proud he was to have bought it himself. Smile at how excited he was to live something he'd only dreamed of before. Smile to know that riding is just one of the ways in which he lives his life fully. Joyfully. And that, more than anything, is what I've always wanted for my son.

Comments

[Verna Wilder]

Nothing beats having kids for learning how to let go. We think we'll die if "something" happens to them, and things do happen to them, and we don't die. We just keep loving them every minute and dealing with our own fear as we've taught them to deal with theirs.

I try to not to think "grandson" and "motorcycle" in the same thought. Yes, denial is very handy. Prayer's good too.

[Lisa Wilder]

LOL! Yes, prayer is very good, and often the only thing in our power to do.