The revisiting of old wounds

can make room for unexpected extra special blessings, Part 2

Photo courtesy of Unsplash

Rona Maynard

so eloquently points out a certain truth in her recent post.

Even if you don’t miss the mother you had, you’ll miss the one she could not be.

While there is no cure for this type of sorrow, there is an antidote that can neutralize the poison— in Mahatma Gandhi's guiding words, "Be the change you wish to see in the world," or, in this case, become the mother you never had. Despite my own set of foibles, I've made it my primary goal as a parent to create loving and close relationships with my children, a testament to the resilience we can all find within ourselves. 

My mother's sobriety brings calm to our relationship, but it can not and does not bridge the great divide between us. We settle into a birthday-and-holiday relationship, in other words, going through the motions. My mom is happy with her new grandbaby but doesn't truly embrace being a grandparent. She visits occasionally and cares for Amy a handful of times. My father informs me after one such visit that my mother has gone through our desk to find out how much we make. Sadly, it's not surprising but disturbing enough that I will move forward without her help as a grandparent.

My father passes before my son Jordan is born, and my mother moves closer to us, but our relationship has hit a status quo. Unbeknownst to me, she takes up with a married man from the senior center, works part-time as a caregiver, visits on birthdays and holidays, and develops a substance abuse issue with prescription meds.

As my children grow, I find inspiration in families and parents who have close bonds with their children. I study their dynamics and strive to emulate them as best I can, always seeking to improve and grow in my own parenting journey.

Every year on Mother's Day, I find myself in a difficult position. I invite my mother out of obligation, but deep down, I long for a day spent enjoying my family without the need to go through the motions with my mother. But something deep inside will not let me succumb to that choice, probably because my mother isn’t a bad person, she is a broken person. And there is a difference.

I've had many lovely Mother's Days with my children, but this one will be remembered among the best. Amy and I sat across from one another at the dining table, just the two of us, as Michael had to work. She made me a delicious pancake and bacon breakfast with an espresso coffee. Having arrived the night before, we settle into a week together that will be spent celebrating motherhood.

After eating she opens her mother-to-be Mother's Day card, and no big surprise, we both end up in tears. She is her mother's daughter, after all. We stand up to enjoy a tear-filled embrace that lasts a minute or two. It is the first time I can feel the baby between our two bodies, and it is the most glorious Mother's Day present imaginable.

And that idea I began with, about life balancing out at some point?

I understand from the pain of the past, that experiences like these are not a given; they can't be earned or purchased, and when I am fortunate enough to receive them, it's paramount that I soak in all the goodness. The teeter-totter has evened out, and it’s glorious to be enjoying the gifts of now.