pounded, pureed, and pulverized

The phrase "shaken, not stirred" definitely does not describe my life. I feel like everything important to me has been tossed into a blender. I know that control is an illusion but there is comfort in predictability. It gives one a sense of security knowing that the sun will rise in the morning and that the moon will light up the sky at night. I definitely do not like this "pureed" version of my life.
I learned the hard way that boys (not all of them, but definitely all of mine) tend to lose their way a bit when they hit middle school. I don’t know if it is hormones, a new school with new peers or genetics. I do know that it is inevitable. I don’t need a crystal ball. The strange thing was that the one child that you would naturally assume would have difficulties (he has a learning disability) seems to have sort of hit his stride. He is doing fairly well. The other three boys have pulled every stunt known to man. If there are other shenanigans they could be involved with I really don’t want to think about it. 
All of my children are bright. They are also individuals with their own strengths and weaknesses. There is something special about each one. The "three" all started school and did very well. I noticed early that school was not going to be a passion for my oldest. Michael was so intelligent that it was scary. All I can say is "Thank God" he graduates this year.  He is very much a social creature so his GPA could be better but it is what it is.  Case in point, he has not one but three dates to the ROTC dance. When he told me he made sure that I knew that they all knew about the situation and were "cool with it". I really don’t know why I was surprised. 
Sam has me concerned. This has not been his year. I know that the loss of his PeePaw was devastating. Everything has been turned upside down for all of us. Sam acts like his brain has been replaced with oatmeal. He does not have ADHD. He has the ability to concentrate but he definitely lacks the desire. He even walks slower than I thought humanly possible. My "cuddle buddy" has turned into a mumbling, somewhat distant lump. I have been preparing myself for the fact that he would probably need to repeat the 7th grade. I pushed, prodded, cajoled and threatened his older siblings where school was concerned. Lauren was the only one that appreciated it and actually begged for help when she needed it. 
I will admit that I feel a bit guilty. I do acknowledge that he has to do this. I can’t do it for him. I am not in the classroom. I cannot take a test or retain information FOR him. I have finally come to understand that no matter how much "I" care, I cannot make someone else feel the same way. That has to come from inside. Knowing it doesn’t mean that I like it. The guilt comes from the fact that although I have asked all the appropriate questions and provided all the necessary supplies I have not been as much of a "force" as I was with the other kids. I have been so consumed with my own grief and pain that I just didn’t have the strength (emotionally or physically) to spare.  A part of me feels like I let him down.
The rest of me feels (and justifiably so) that he is responsible for his action or inaction. He will have to deal with the consequences. That sounds really mature and tough. I wish I could tell that to the knot that has taken up residence in my stomach. At this point there is nothing that can be done to change the situation. Maybe when he actually faces the reality of his classmates going on without him he will take this seriously.
I mentioned in a previous entry that my oldest son was going to have surgery again this month. That is still going to happen. When he called to tell me about it he also told me some things that still have me reeling. A divorce is no longer possible but is now imminent. The details are not mine to give. Suffice it to say that he is heartbroken and miserable. So are we. Not only is my "baby" hurting but he is halfway across the country as well. I think we would all feel a bit better if I could just wrap my arms around him. To add salt to an already open wound, we will lose our granddaughter. She is not "blood", was never adopted by my son, and that leaves him (and us) with no legal standing. Her mother will go on with her life as before. I doubt that Kaylee will even remember us. I do know that she was loved very much during the last two years.
I can’t kick and scream no matter how much the thought appeals to me. I want my son to be happy. I have to be supportive. I had a strange sense of foreboding when he told us that he was going to get married so soon after meeting the girl. The feeling intensified when I learned that we would be instant grandparents as well. In spite of my misgivings, we held nothing back. We welcomed them both with open arms and hearts. I guess I fell into the trap of believing that I could love them enough to make everything else okay. Maybe one day I will learn that lesson before my heart is shredded yet again. I seriously doubt it though.
I don’t know how much more I can take. I have almost reached the point where I am afraid to answer the phone or look in the mail box. I definitely do not want to hear "Guess what" any time soon. I really don’t think I am being excessively greedy when I ask for just a small measure of peace. If this makes no sense whatsoever, welcome to my nightmare.