Being a mom is hard. Being a mom to adult children is harder than I ever imagined.
As a mom, no matter what age the kids are, my heart is constantly on the outside of my chest. I am more sensitive than I ever was. I do everything I can to not cry far too often. It has gotten better lately, but I work constantly---CONSTANTLY!!---on breathing deeply and not taking everything so personally. And if you are a mom, most things really are personal, no matter what we do to think it isn't. That makes so much sense, doesn't it? ...I know it doesn't. It's just what I battle all the time.
There are so many days I watch younger moms with their kids and I am so wistful for those days. I want to cherish the moments far more than I ever did. When you are knee deep in the trenches, you just want to get to the next, bigger, easier milestone. You want more sleep. You want less busy-ness. Right now? I want all of it all over again. I want the sleepless nights. I want the snotty nosed snuggles when they are sick. I want them to want me to be their mom again. I long for the days when them needing the safety and the love of their mother isn't met with their doubt of it being a step backwards in their lives or something they need to discount in all of their adultness. Not to mention all of the baggage of the mistakes I have made over the years that are amplified in memories as they grow older. If I had the blue genie's three wishes, I would go back. I would re-do it all....but only if it brought me back here to my new life with my husband and daughter and job and friends afterwards. My wish would be to be back here without the wounds of our past.
Chris and I were on the cusp of the empty-nest. And suddenly we aren't any longer. Our youngest child is away in school, living her best life. School, new apartment, sorority, work...all the things that launching into the world looks like. The middle guy...he is back home. And as much as we were enjoying the empty nest, we are quite happy about him being home. He left in a fit of anger and high emotions and lived with his love for a bit. For reasons that is his story to tell, he is back. I am just happy that we are a safe place for him to fall, even amidst the frenzied thoughts and feelings that are filling his head and heart. I am glad that when he feels like there is nowhere else to go, he knows a call to home is where he will be welcomed, no matter what. The oldest guy is still trying to figure out where he and his talents fit in his new reality after living a hell none of us wanted him to have to face last year. I can't even explain the highs and the lows we see and feel. Talk about backfire... But here we are, on this new path, trying to figure it out day by day.
The boys and I rebounded from a tumultuous existence when we moved back to California from Omaha in 2010. We didn't know how to exist, much less exist in any semblance of a healthy manner. We learned a lot through trial and error. That trial and error made us closer for a time because we had nobody else. As they grew older and became their own people, it was hard for me to see them as anything but my boys. I didn't know how to let go. I was probably far too involved--and I was intent on being the opposite of the other parent, who lived six states away and didn't seem as interested and vested in their day-to-day. And then when we add in the neglect and indifference I remember from my own mother as a teenager and wanting the interest and the involvement from her, well....I may have overcompensated a bit with my sons.
I reveled in being the strict mom when they were younger. I wanted them to respect me and grow into good human beings. I wanted to show them the right way. I loved them so much and wanted to do right by them. I still do. And then when it was just us, I loved being the one they wanted to spend time with. All the while, however, I was making mistakes at every turn. There was no road map. Our life is 100% better now than it was. We've had conversations over the years where the boys recognized we are changed for the better. We knew we made it this far together, with people who were our angels along the way. We learned to be resilient. We forged ahead and made our life into what we dreamed about as we sang the lyrics to the song, Someday, by Rob Thomas, which we deemed our little family anthem.
One of the hardest things I realized this past year was that togetherness I thought the boys and I shared doesn't always translate through their memories when they are figuring out their place and healing from the traumas they feel themselves. I found that every mistake I have ever made was magnified and I was living them all over again, a decade + later with them as adults. I was not afforded human-ness in their memories. Things I thought we had grown from were in front of me all over again. The narrative sucks because none of us are in the place we were back then anymore. Despite all of the reminders and the backlash and the shitty things being said and done in our direction, Chris and I remained steadfast in loving them, holding onto each other for dear life while dealing with the pain that feels like the worse loss imaginable when your kids don't want anything to do with you.
The thing is: We can't change anyone's mind about us. And truly, what they think about us isn't our business. And then you think: Those children came from me. We went through hell together. How can they forget? How are they be so influenced? I had to really learn how to let go of everything...expectations, feelings about what they were doing, saying, seeing, who they were hanging out with. I had to learn to see them as adults. They are now men! Tall, hairy, sometimes stinky, always messy men. They have their own thoughts and feelings and direction. I had to realize the distance between two points isn't always linear. I had to realize they are going on the path that makes the most sense to them and to let go. It's not easy to let go. I cried every day. Every single day I would cry at least once. Sometimes it would last a few minutes and pass and sometimes I would wail the pain into the heavens, just hoping for some relief.
My friends know of my pain the past year-and of the millions of tears I have cried in response. My friends have shown me support and advised me on the things I should be doing. These are things I have not done. I always hoped the boys would come back to the fold. I held on to the belief and the hope that the part of them that is me is soft and loving and forgiving. I knew that if we took drastic measures in the face of some pretty bad times that it would cut the tie forever. I couldn't do that. Tough love doesn't work when there is so much trauma that we have come from.
So, Chris and I were patient.
We started to live for ourselves. We took trips and found "us" again, after the last two years of madness. And we were always kind. We saw where we need to let go and see the kids for the adults they are. We stopped asking when they would be coming home and where they were. We stopped expecting them to pick up the phone when we called. We stopped asking the unnecessary questions.
We let go.
And then the calls started to come. The conversations and the smiles started to return. I was asked to have a weekly dinner with my youngest son and then he started to work in my building. Now we have excursions after work. He talks to me all the time now. He is back to asking for advice and I am careful with what I offer. No opinions, just support. The other is coming around, too. He has a tougher exterior, but I know his heart. It's still golden. And I am still patient. I have learned to be a parent, but not to parent.
My sister-in-law gave me that advice: to be a parent and not to parent. It was, quite frankly, exactly what I needed to hear. I have taken it to heart. And it has helped me to navigate this minefield of new adulthood. I can love my kids and always be here and be their parent. But I am done parenting them. They know what they are doing, if not what they want to do, or even the general direction of their goal. They also know I am here if they need me.
Today we had to go to the funeral of our cousin, someone who I will miss. Chris and my youngest son came with me. We sat in the pew and in his sadness, my son put his head on my shoulder. He knew it would be there. He knew he would be comforted by mom. It was on his time and on his terms, and suddenly I knew it will all be ok.
I am a parent and my adult children will be ok. And so will I.
Someday by Rob Thomas
You can start all over again
You can try to find a way to make another day go by
You can hide
Hold all your feelings inside
You can try to carry on when all you wanna do is cry
Try to put an end to all our doubt
Try to find a way to make things better now that
Maybe someday we'll live our lives out loud
We'll be better off somehow, someday
And try to find another mistake
If you throw it all away then maybe you can change your mind
You can run
And when everything is over and done
You can shine a little light on everything around you
Man it's good to be someone
Try to put an end to all our doubt
Try to find a way to make things better now that
Maybe someday we'll live our lives out loud
We'll be better off somehow, someday
I just wanna know
I just wanna hear you tell me so
Give it to me straight
Tell it to me slow
We'll put an end to all our doubt
Try to find a way to just to feel better now
Maybe someday we'll live our lives out loud
We'll be better off somehow, someday
Just how good it can get
So maybe we should start all over
Start all over, again
Just how good it can get
So maybe we should start all over
Start all over, again
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