Tag: adult children

Mother’s Day

Here we are again. Another Mother’s Day weekend to gut through. They come every year, no matter what. The good news is now that my mother (usually referred to as Gayle) is no longer this side of the dirt. This year I don’t have to read dozens of cards trying to find just one that isn’t a lie. I finally just bought a box of blank notecards. I could write a simple, “Happy Mother’s Day”, and be done with it. And, if I’m being honest, if I’d decided to jot something–anything-else down, my handwriting has long been illegible. By illegible I mean almost no one can read it. I truly cannot remember not writing. A quick look at my index finger will show a good-sized writer’s knot. That’s what it used to be called. Now the doctor just calls it some kind of arthritis. Whatever. It’s still illegible.

I cherish my sons….Brendan (35), Bailey (23), and Grayson (12). I picture Bailey walking to the beach and I swear I can hear him say: I LOVE the sound of flip flops! In my mind’s eye I see Brendan, very still and quiet in his captain’s bed, as I sing The Promised Land. Then there’s Grayson, or G as we mostly call him. I can’t not see him as the baby we didn’t know but had promised to take care of. Each of them beautiful in the way only I see them. This comes with a melancholy kind of sadness I can’t shake off. I can’t drive away from it. Or swim myself out of it. It’s there and it’s not going away any time soon.

I have spent my life trying not to be the mother I had. Sometimes I wonder if I might’ve missed the point.

I wanted them not to know what real fear feels like. I wanted them to be certain I would always be in their corner no matter what. I wanted them to be secure in the knowledge that I loved them. Period. No conditions. No excuses. And I still want those things. The problem is I fail every single day. My boys know this. I’m not sure they know that I know it.

Every sharp exchange, every word said in anger, every single disappointed sigh….they see it. Feel it. But they don’t know I feel it too. Not like they do. No. I feel it in my soul. The way you feel when you’ve been entrusted with something holy and you somehow screwed it up. Many times I can’t get out of my own way with them. I see it, but I can’t stop myself.

Three boys. Three different decades. Each one calls me a different name. Bren calls me Madre. Bay calls me Mama. G calls me Mom. I don’t know why it worked out that way. I didn’t tell them what to call me. Except that one time Brendan called me by my given name. Let’s just say in Appalachia we don’t do that. It’s disrespectful. And I’m still sorry for that, Brendan, but I learned a long time ago there are some things you can’t take back. And I know that doesn’t track with my previous note that I often called my mother by her given name. Just try to understand that she was never a mother to me and did not deserve that title of respect. It wasn’t a secret.

I want to say here that Gayle was a much better grandparent than she ever was a parent, but I’d be lying. I always hid any type of medication when she was coming to visit because she was a drug addict. She’d been an addict since my earliest memories of her. But there was one time when she drank nearly the entire bottle of liquid pain meds with codeine that one of the boys was taking while recovering from surgery. I discovered it when she left. I noticed something syrupy was spilled on the counter. It only took a moment for me to follow the syrup and then to realize what had happened. She denied it, of course, but it was pointless. I knew what had happened and I made sure it never happened again.

During the early years of our marriage, she would come to visit pretty regularly. We’d make a big meal. Then as we ate, she’d start telling Tony about how she’d made sure she raised me not to depend on a man. That she knew going to college would mean I could take care of myself. Late one night after we’d all gone to bed, Tony looked at me and asked, “Do you know how hard it is for me to sit there while she says those things?” I replied that it couldn’t possibly be as hard for him as it was for me. (Back to why I call her Gayle.)

So what she really taught me was that the only person I could depend on was me. And that is why I went to college. Well, that and the promise of food every day and a roof over my head every night. It was a pretty low bar.

But that’s not the case for my boys. They do know I love them. They do know I will always be here for them. They also know I’m human. But I will never stop trying to be the mother they deserve. Not sure I’ll ever get there. But I’ll keep trying.

Happy Mother’s Day to everyone who stood in the gap for me and helped me to get this far. Many who never knew the ordinary things they did from a place of love were extraordinary to me. All love.

For the Boys

One of my biggest joys in life is being a mom to my three sons. And if you want to make an enemy for life, mess with either of them. I’ll make a career out of anyone who messes with these guys. 🙂

I have a son who just turned 31. He’s a working musician. He’s probably the single most talented person I know, and I know some talented people.

My second son (a child I really didn’t think I’d have) is 18 and a recent high school graduate. This boy is a natural academic AND a natural athlete.

Then there’s the 7 year old. (I definitely didn’t think I’d have this one!) He was born addicted and in foster care at 6 weeks old. I was his great aunt, sister to his grandmother. He came to our home when he was 8 months old. His adoption anniversary was in March.

Each of these boys have made me a better person. They challenge me and frustrate me and uplift me every single day. I am thankful God allowed me to be their mother.

Motherhood has many stages. First time moms with new babies are often sleep-deprived and unsure of their parenting skills. By the time the next one comes along, those moms are seasoned veterans who likely feel as though they’ve spent time “in the trenches”. Eventually you get to (finally) become friends with your adult children. (Remember all those times you said, “I’m your mother, not your friend”?

I’m in that last stage with the older boys. One is just now at this point. The oldest has been there for a while. They’re both in relationships with lovely young women who treat them well. The oldest is actually engaged.

Side note: I started collecting a few pieces of nice jewelry some years back, with a goal of gifting these things to the boys for their future wives. So when he told me he was going to propose, I took him to the safe where he “shopped” for an engagement ring. She loved it!

The teenager lost his favorite high school teacher to COVID19 in September. He had this teacher all 4 years of high school. They also worked together (along with my son’s best friend) at a local golf course. They were very close and my son is crushed.

He and his friend felt like they really needed to attend the funeral service, which was about a 3 hour drive into another state. Boy, was I nervous! It was all for naught, though. They made a good plan, arrived safely, and honored their teacher. They both also spoke at the memorial held by the school. Brave boys to let others see their hurting hearts. I’ve never been so proud.

Then there’s the little guy. He’s on the spectrum and we’re learning as we go. He’s very high maintenance—there’s everything from keeping the meds straight, arranging various therapies and appointments, and entertaining him. (Because everyone knows it’s a mother’s job to entertain her bored children.) (Just kidding!)

He struggled with virtual school last year. I honestly felt like he wasn’t learning anything. So, after the holiday break, we prayerfully decided to send him back to in-person school.

He has some sensory issues, so I worried he wouldn’t wear his mask. He was getting a new teacher and he doesn’t handle change very well. He has asthma, so he’s vulnerable to illness. I was scared to death. But I knew it was the right decision for him.

Unfortunately, since coronavirus arrived on scene, he’d learned almost nothing. I spoke with his wonderful teacher and asked what she thought of potentially having him repeat the first grade. She agreed that it was the best option. The main issue was that he couldn’t read.

This awesome teacher agreed to have him in her class again this school year. (She’s definitely a candidate for sainthood in my book!) Thataway, he didn’t have to acclimate to a new teacher and classroom. He comes home daily and shares something he learned. He’ll say, “I know what’s 10 plus 10….20! He can now also read enough to make calls from my phone’s contact list! (Often to their dismay!)

Wherever you are in your motherhood journey, just know that it’s worth it. You will survive, but you might need a little help along the way. And when you have the opportunity to see the good people that your children have grown into, take a minute to pat yourself on the back, because YOU did THAT.

Big love to you.