For My Mom:
When I think about being a mom I think about how hard it is. It's weird. You make that decision that you're ready for a baby, that it's time to take on this new job of motherhood. Then you try for months to get that dream to come true. And then it does and you're so ecstatic. Life feels complete and blessed and full of hope and possibility and adventure. And then that baby is born and within a few days or weeks the bliss turns into this realization that this tiny, dependent person is stuck with you and you with it for the rest of your lives. That no matter what, better or worse, you are connected and obligated to one another. It's not a feeling of regret, just intense epiphany that there's no turning back. This is it. This is your life now. Dirty diapers and snot and whining and constant eating and jokes about body noises and hitting and biting and yelling and crying. This is life. And it only gets worse. They get older and learn how to talk and communicate and reason and manipulate and make comparisons to other people's lives and other people's parents. And then they become teenagers and you find yourself, hating them, but only for a second and very rarely. And you wonder what you've ever done to create such a selfish monster. What parenting book did you forget to read that would have prepared you for, no prevented, this behavior?
And then they graduate and although they've given you hell and brought you to your knees in gut wrenching cries more times than you can count, you still love them and slip into a tiny depression at the realization that they're old enough to leave you. You've been preparing them their whole lives to be independent and free thinkers and open minded and open-hearted. You've taught them how to use a check book, a debit card, the dangers of credit, to communicate with authorities and take responsibility for their actions. It's time to let them go and you momentarily forget all the chaos that you went through in raising them and start to beg them to just stay a little longer. "Do a year at home, live here while you look for a job. I can help." But no. They're ready. It's time. And mentally, they're already gone. They've started their new adventures. One's that don't include you or hikes at the park, or looking for worms under rocks in the back yard. Adventures that have nothing to do with helping you make cookies and learning how to spell their name. No, these new adventures of theirs are scary. Ones that could get them physically hurt or worse yet, emotionally. Their hearts are going to get broken and their confidence shattered and you know it but your role has changed and they don't want to hear your wisdom or be consoled with your hugs and words of encouragement. So you stay quiet and promise yourself that they need to learn some lessons on their own. They want this and they're ready and it's time.
Fast forward 10 years. Your baby hasn't been a baby for a long time. She's married and a mom herself and she's got this whole life and friends and a job and responsibilities. She had rough years through her early 20's, had her heart broken like you knew she would, but she's made it through. She's happy and healthy and in love and a mom. She has started on this journey that is so familiar to you and you remember your own beginnings like it was just yesterday when you looked at that pregnancy test and saw the "plus" sign. You marvel a little at how karma really does exist and try not to laugh when your grandchildren hit and bite and yell at their mom, your daughter. It's been 30 years of a journey that is un-comparable. It's been 30 years of worry and fighting and angst, and tears. But above all it's been 30 years of deeply routed, unconditional, continuous love. A love that has been through valleys and climbed up mountains and plummeted to the depths of hell and back again. A love that has been the hardest love you've ever experienced. A love that has conquered and has grown and has flourished. A love that, although you found it hard to imagine, you hoped would be contagious and would be passed on through other people as your child grew older. And it has. The love your daughter has for her children is proof that you did it right. That you loved her the right way. The best way you could and in the only way she understood. You loved her perfectly because you created love in her world and you continued to use that love to raise her, care for her, discipline her, instruct her and guide her. She is who she is because of you. Because of your love. You are her heart beat. And she is yours. For better, for worse. Forever and Always.
