Missing Frames on the Wall

Quite symbolically, my children rip down family pictures whenever they get mad at me. Instead of using nails, I've committed to using the velcro strips that supposedly leave no trace for repainting (not true). So they often come loose with four children traipsing up and down the stairs. The first few, fell naturally or unintentionally. Hitting each step on their way down, clanging and banging and leaving shattered glass scattered down the stairs. But sometime between the accidents and the stomping, my oldest decided the way to really get under my skin, was to intentionally take them off the wall. Shouting how much he hates me, grabbing a cherished photo and unhinging it from its shrine on wall. He wouldn't smash it, only take it off and leave it on the stairs. Starting with, of course, the ones with him and I alone and then moved onto others with more family members. Saying hurtful words like, "You're not my real mother" and "I only love my biological mother," - words reserved for adoptive mothers that sting just the right way. Words flung like arrows hitting every target. And of course, the other children tried to follow suit. Luckily my youngest two don't have the fine motor skills to pull it off.

Since my oldest son has left home, I have not taken the time to put the rest of the pictures back - leaving gaping holes in the collage up the walls. It's constantly on my "to do" list but never seems to find its way to the top. There's something just too sad about having to open the packages of velcro strips, hold them in place for 60 seconds, and make sure they snap into place. Waiting an hour before finally returning each frame to its rightful place. Something in his absence has sucked the energy out of this simple task. I think it could be that I never look too closely at the pictures when I pass them. Up and down the stairs countless times a day - never really looking at my aging children or my younger self. Never recounting the mistakes and triumphs I've made as a mother. And to take the moments to revisit those, right now, is just too painful. So our house remains incomplete - fractured, broken, with giant gaping holes where happy memories should have been - waiting for a day when I have enough left in my heart to reclaim them.