Not all of us feel the way I do about their mothers. Not all mothers have made it their full-time job to build a lasting, healthy relationship with their children. Watch Dr. Phil for a week if you don't know what I'm talking about. I know I'm among the most fortunate of children because I have a mother whose very identity has been inextricably linked to her role as a parent for her entire life. Once, years ago, I asked her if she knew what her "purpose," was. I was struggling with getting a grasp on my place in the world, my perfect trajectory. Mom didn't hesitate, answering, "I've always been a mother. When I was young, I wanted to have ten children." She stopped at 4, but would have loved another 6 equally well, I have no doubt. "Mom" is who she is, even if she didn't give birth to you. She loves like a mom, worries like a mom, nurtures like a mom, and hurts like a mom for everyone in her life. God bless her for that.
With a role model like that, you'd think she'd have a small army of grandchildren by now. Her 4 children produced a total of 4. Half of us didn't have children at all. My own story is the only one I have a right to tell, so I'll restrict my comments on that subject. Having grown up in the "me generation" 1970s, I had a few tense moments waiting...hoping...to discover I didn't have a child on the way. I counted myself lucky, in my immaturity. Later, I thought for a long time that I simply hadn't found someone worth starting a family with. Ultimately, I married (at 40) and desperately wanted a child for the first time in my life. We tried everything. In the end, I learned quite late in the game that I had a uterus so full of fibroid tumors there was no chance I'd ever successfully carry a child. Recovering from the ensuing hysterectomy, I was nearly overwhelmed at the feeling of emptiness...of incompleteness. In some ways, I've never been the same in the way I perceive myself.
Once, while struggling with a difficult decision about how to manage one of my siblings during a crisis, I offered my best "tough love," advice to my mom. Her response, laden with pained sincerity, landed like a cannon ball in my soul. She said, "You'll never understand my position because you've never had children." I wanted to argue her point. I wanted to tell her that good advice is good advice and my empty womb was irrelevant to the situation. But, I couldn't breathe in that moment. I knew, at a molecular level, that she had spoken a truth that was irrefutable. But, did that necessarily mean I couldn't temper my thoughts and decisions, study her and other mothers in my life, and grow that same kind of heart, if only an approximation of the real thing? I know, this paragraph has gotten a little bit dramatic in tone. But, this is deep stuff, and it draws up thoughts and emotions that I'm unaccustomed to expressing outwardly, so I hope you'll bear with me there.
I have never carried a child, given birth, decorated a nursery, or been awakened for midnight feedings. I don't know what any of that feels like. Whenever I've had the opportunity to hold some else's newborn, I have been awestruck by the miracle in my arms and wondered how in the world anyone meets the overwhelming responsibility of keeping such a helpless being safe and healthy. I've spent a few moments looking into those tiny eyes, examining those impossibly small fingers, and being simply at a loss to comprehend what the daily commitment must be and how lives must change to meet the challenge. And, that's just one baby in my arms. My mom had 4 within 6 years. I was her first, born when she was barely 19 years old. It astounds me every time I think about it. Having not experienced the profound physical, chemical, emotional, and lifestyle changes a woman goes through when bringing a new life into the world, I know I've missed out on something that is core to womanhood. And, if you're reading this and even thinking about going into gender identity, women's rights, sexual equality, or any other political agenda in the comments, please..just...don't. This is a moment for respect. Respect for the absolutely incredible miracle that a woman's body is capable of performing, and the exquisite way in which God and nature alter and provide for her to rise to the result.
Let me lighten things up just a little and talk about motherliness that isn't biological in nature. In other words, "Mother" as verb rather than noun. Despite all my feelings of incompleteness and inadequacy, there are a few who have been a soothing balm on that sore spot in my soul by telling me they experience me as a mother. My favorite one actually refers to her own mother (my best friend) as "biomom," and to me as "moom." Biomom is happy to share, and I am deeply grateful for what those relationships do in my life. Another young woman stayed with us on weekends when she was in town for a while. At our dinner table, she talked about some of the difficulties she had in her own family dynamics and the ways in which she did not feel nurtured or respected in her developmental years. We thought we were just offering room and board, but she told us more than a couple of times that we were parents to her. Well, my darlings, the healing is mutual.
One of my favorite moments of unexpected motherliness happened about a year ago. A young couple lives next door to us and, for a while, their teen-aged nephew lived with them. As I was backing out of my driveway one morning, on a quick errand, I noticed the nephew sitting on the tree swing in the front yard, hoodie pulled up over his bowed head. I powered down my window and called out, "Are you okay?" He waved and nodded, and I was on my way. An hour later, when I returned, he hadn't moved. I walked over to him and asked if he was locked out of the house. He told me his aunt was inside but he was forbidden to go in because they had been arguing. I asked if he needed anything and he said he didn't. I squeezed his shoulder and said I'd be home and he was welcome to ring the bell if any need arose. Ten minutes later, my bell rang. He said he was cold and just wanted to know if he could sit inside for 10 minutes. I made him a hot lunch and asked if he wanted to talk about anything. This soft-spoken, courteous 18-year-old told me he knew he'd said some things he shouldn't have, but thought he wouldn't have the chance to make up for it because he was being kicked out. His mother lived several hours away and the plan was for him to be put on a bus back to her for his offense. He said he'd never taken a bus before, didn't have any money, and didn't even know how to check the bus schedule. I did check for him, and the only bus going where he needed to go departed our city very late at night. Our depot is one of the seediest spots in town, and we both felt he would be unsafe and vulnerable traveling that way.
He talked about his mother and her current husband, who wasn't his father. There were two very young half-siblings living with her. He described them as, "my world." While we were talking, she called and I gave him a little space for the conversation, but really all he said was a lot of, "Yes, ma'am, I understand." He told me she had a set some conditions under which he could return to her home. He said he was ready to meet them, even though he acknowledged he had acted poorly in the past. So, here I had in my kitchen this young man who was unwelcome in his current home, being received coolly in his mother's home, and expressing fear and readiness to make necessary changes to insure the next season of his life didn't go the way the past had. I have nothing in common with this child. Nothing about our life experiences matches up. I have no special training or wisdom that I can draw on for moments like this. But, I do believe motherliness is a gift of God that can be granted by grace even for childless me. What I offered him came from a heart overwhelmed with compassion and sympathy. And, the words surprised even me, as I hadn't planned a one of them. I told him something like this: "You may feel as though something is ending because you're being asked to leave your home. But, I encourage you to see it as a beginning. You say you're ready to make some changes and you're being very brave and wise to take a look at your ownership in your situation and to consider what you can do about it. You've got young siblings waiting for you. They are little sponges and they will be watching you. What you do will have an impact on their development. So, you have a chance, here, to not only improve your own life, but to make a difference in theirs. I don't believe anything happens randomly. This may be just the moment when those children need you to be there and, though it feels sad and frightening to you right now, you may be about to begin the most important season of your life. Let those babies be your inspiration and your motivation. Do it for them, and you'll want to do better for yourself."
As I spoke, he stared intently into my eyes. He hadn't really made much eye contact before then. When I finished my thoughts, he took a long, slow breath. Then he said, "Wow, I never really thought about any of it like that." I don't know, but I had the sense no one had ever spoken to him in this way. I gave him a duffle bag to pack his few belongings (he was going to use plastic grocery bags) and I gave him my cell phone number and told him I wanted to know how he did. He thanked me. Then, he hugged me...and it's a hug I'll never forget. It was tight, long, and full of gratitude. I wish I could say he's kept in touch and is doing great, but I haven't heard from him since. His uncle did tell me he'd made it home safely and was, "fine." I'm going to have to trust that. But, the way he lives in my memory and in my heart feels very...well...motherly. These moments help me feel complete in my incompleteness. And, yes, they offer me a sense of purpose.
My mom is about to go through her fourth surgery in as many years. I've been able to help care for her in her recoveries, and I'll do it again. I've shopped for her (and my Dad), cooked for her, bathed her, and held her hand while she has slept in her hospital bed. I've offered her advice whens she's confused, and taught her things she needed to learn (like how to use emojis😆!) There comes a time in so many of our lives where we begin to parent our parents. For every time she has told me she doesn't want to ever be a burden on her children, I have told her it is a privilege to be able to give back for all the years they gave to me. I don't yet know who will be there to care for me when I get older, but I do feel there will be someone there...maybe someone I haven't yet met. In the meantime, while I may not be a noun mother, I'm going to enthusiastically embrace every opportunity to be a verb mother, and be grateful for it.
'Til next time, I am CoolGray.
No comments:
Post a Comment