Samuel
from wistfulhorizons.com
My son Sam
is father to a happy and confident two-year-old
but he is not defined by fatherhood.
My son Sam is a loving husband of a loving wife
but he is not defined by marital status.
My son Sam earns a living as a gardener
but neither his living or ‘a gardener’ define him.
My son Sam is an artist and sportsman
but neither his love for art nor his love for sport define him.
My son Sam has a mortgage on a small house
but neither the smallness of his house or the term ‘house owner’ define him.
My son Sam is not a car owner
but car ownership would not have defined him, even if he’d owned a Jaguar.
My son Sam is nourished by air, food, and sun,
which offer health or can contribute to ill health
but they do not define him.
I love my son with all my heart
but I cannot define him.
My son’s thoughts can touch the stars
but his thoughts do not define him.
My son’s feelings can run as deep and full as the Earth itself
but his feelings do not define him.
When my son Sam suffered psychosis he lost the thread of connections between himself and the world.
In his efforts to order and reconnect, my bedroom became a nursery for cuttings potted in soil and watered with urine.
The ensuite toilet held a bag of ericaceous compost.
Upright sticks like heralds inhabited pots on the outdoor table and stayed there for 2 years, until some grew roots and leaves.
Out of the re-makings and reconnections grew a mature adult
with a love of gardening and being outdoors.
My son Sam has good health
but health or illness can’t define him.
My son is beautiful, cherishing and cherished.
He is undefinable.
from wistfulhorizons.com