A Mother is Forever

You walked back into my house today, and my heart swelled. For eight days now, I have been going through memories of your formative years. My beautiful daughter. You moved out eight days ago, and you were angry with me. I will never forget that.

I came home for my lunch break and a knock rapped at the door. A man stood there, introduced himself and smiled back at me like I should know who he is. He saw the confusion on my face plainly so he elaborated.

“I'm here to move Alanna into her new trailer. I’m the landlord.”

My face still held no recognition. I knew she was moving out, this month even, but not today. We had hardly spoken for nearly a week, so this turn of events and the abrupt transition rocked me to my core. He elaborated even farther for my benefit.

“I’m Lauren’s dad. Our girls are friends. We have several trailer parks around town and Alanna is moving into one of our places.”

I understood, but somehow could not make words to express myself properly.

“Thanks.” It came out like sawdust, raw and dry in my mouth.

I immediately went to my daughter’s bedroom where she and her friend were tearing through the space like teenage tornados. The boxes I had noticed days ago were still lining the wall nearest the door, however the rest of the room was a foreign landscape with belongings in untidy piles that were being grouped by size. I spoke. But thinking back now, I can’t remember my exact words. Something about her not taking the dog. She gave me a forced recognition and replied in as short a response she could give without looking at me.

Tianna, her eight year old pit bull terrier mix, I knew would be moving with her, along with the disabled, holy terror that she adopted from Pet Allies. They had called her a cat at the time, but this furry tripod has so much spirit, fire and will, I was sure she was an otherworldly being that had stolen my heart. And she was leaving now as well. Dakota though, our one year old pit bull mix breed was bought and paid for by my partner, and at the time, we all understood that she was a “family” pet. The problem was this, we were never really a family to begin with because my daughter had never accepted my partner from day one. To make matters worse my willful, freshly eighteen year old daughter got it in her head at some point during this year that this dog belongs solely to her regardless of the hours and days and weeks of training my partner had spent with this pet. I had broken the news to my son first that Dakota would be staying here with all of us when Alanna moved. He divulged this information prematurely when I had hoped to break the news to her myself. This was the last straw in a long series of unfortunate events between us that fueled an anger in her worthy of a Mt. Vesuvius eruption.

Instead,

She moved out early and without notice.

Somewhere in our brief conversation, she informed me that she would return to pick up her animals once she got settled into her new place. I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to them just yet.

Today, eight days later, she graced me with her presence after a text I received at work letting me know that today is the day to pick up her pets (and a few other things that were left behind in her haste) and my heart swelled, and grew fearful at once.

“I’m really glad you got all settled into your new place. Maybe I will get to see you today?” I texted back.

Her reply just gave me a time that she would arrive and nothing else. I could determine nothing from that, since we hadn’t spoken for over a week.

Although I had prepared myself for two years of this milestone in our lives together, it played out in ways I could have never imagined or anticipated. She left being angry with me. I know children are supposed to be angry with their parents during their lifetime for whatever large and small reasons, and that there would be room for our relationship to grow in new and unprecedented ways as she developed into the adult that my parenting would produce. I cried like a baby and left work early that day in a puddle of my own grief. My boss, a kind and understanding man, covered my last three hours so I could process this with some shred of dignity.

Some shred. Like sitting in my car for an hour while I called my dad to help me move through this transition like an adult. He was more than helpful, and as I continued with some tears, we reminisced together over moments of my own childhood and memories of another life as a youth, before I ever conceived of parenthood. I was able to grieve well. Intellectually, I understood the butterfly and the cocoon metaphor perfectly. I could not help her through this, it was her final struggle in our time together, when those wings needed to be strong, flexible and oh my heavens, were they beautiful! It was her job to break away, in whatever way she chose to, and I had to radically and immediately accept that.

So, she arrived quietly and tentatively, hugging her brother with vigor and offering me only a sideways glance of uncertainty.

“Can I have one of those too? I’d really love a hug.” I opened the door for her to choose or refuse me. She embraced me graciously and didn’t let go for a long time. Tears welled up involuntarily and I had to squelch them and smile. She hadn’t realized that she’d left so much stuff in her haste to leave home. I found her prized baking pans that I had tucked away to make room for Halloween decorations, just twenty minutes before her arrival. I pointed them out to her. She was grateful, and I saw a genuine smile, which I had been longing for in nearly a month. We visited like friends and I learned about a new boyfriend and some of the highlights and downfalls of her new place, a humble RV that barely housed all her belongings. What a perfect cocoon to bud into a new life. Like a womb that would birth her into this new adulthood with some comfort.

I pointed out a few things that she might like to take with her and noticed her relax instantly at my generosity. We went through favorite movies for her to bring into her life, some childhood staples, board games and the Wii. We visited and talked and gathered items from around the house for over an hour.

What a blessed hour that was for me.

I delighted in the closeness I felt in her company and although tears kept creeping into my eyes throughout our time together, I never let one fall.

Being a parent is the most difficult job on the planet. It is excruciatingly painful and the joys are transcendent. The turbulence is like a rollercoaster at an amusement park. You love the highs, and dread the lows but you can’t get off the ride til it's over, and you usually want to do it again. Nothing in life is certain, and that feeling can be overwhelming at times, especially for a parent. The self doubt, hours of tears in bathrooms and closets that your children will never see. Sleepless nights from the first crying sounds of your newborn infant. Potty training of course, what an interesting bonding experience to share with our kids. First days of school when their anxiety becomes yours, but you stay strong for them, every single year of their lives. Waiting for the late night text that tells you they arrived safely at their destination in their new car. The moment of true separation from child to adulthood when they leave the nest and pave their own way with their own choices that have nothing to do with you.

The milestones are priceless and they are many.

The fear accompanied with parenting is so painfully normal. The self doubt over one’s ability to steer another human being through life in a dingy with one life vest and no oars can feel crippling at times. The internal struggle of feeling like a failure over and over again regardless of how many times you hear other adults in your world tell you “you’re a good mom”, and you don’t believe them.

I can recall times when I chose not to eat so they could be fed. Rare times when I chose a boyfriend in their upbringing who was less than kind to them, the impact was permanent. Times when we laughed so hard together that our ribs ached. Times when we had miraculous adventures in worlds that stand parallel to reality where all time ceases and the moment is all that exists. Times when we cuddled up for a good movie with hot cocoa. Times when we screamed at one another shamelessly, over what now I’m not even sure, and it probably doesn't even matter.

I have two children, a son and a daughter. Which means that I have three hearts beating within me. I have a love that is so big, I feel I could burst from the pressure. But I never do. I am a mother. I carry it inside of myself, this imperfect human shell that houses more love than I ever thought possible, and it never diminishes as they age, but solidifies into a precious gem that has shaped ME in ways I never thought possible. I have grown in indescribable ways by choosing this path and I am forever thankful.

There will be more milestones along this journey that my newly born adult daughter has yet to grow into, and all I can hope for is that I get to be involved in some of them as they arrive. It is HER choice now to decide what MY role is in her life, rather than the other way around. Everything is flipped upside down from what I am used to, but I have learned to become a master at standing on my head. I have eighteen years of practice under my belt, and this new balancing act will one day become normal to me again.

I am a better person because of my children. My son will reach his adulthood as well, and I will experience this again, in a new way, in a personal way that will reflect the eighteen years he will have with me. It will be similar but different, and having gone through this once already, I can only hope that when that day does come, because it will, that I will be available for him in ways that I wasn’t for his sister. And perhaps he won’t have to leave in anger to spread those wings he is growing even now.

I am a mother, therefore I have enough strength within me for all of us, forever. No matter how far away they travel, or how long we go without speaking, I will always be here for them. I will always have the choice to show up in new and different ways, when they choose to involve me.

This piece is dedicated to my beautiful children, to the mothers who have cried themselves to sleep, to the grandmothers who have seen the cycle of life weave itself into rewards that are immeasurable. This piece is in loving memory of my daughter, who is the most beautiful, wise and incredible adult I have ever met in my life. I am proud of her beyond measure and I look forward to continuing watching her grow more into herself in every way she will let me. With radical acceptance and love, I blossom into a role with my miraculous daughter. There are no manuals to guide us through life. We make up most of it as we go along, with the tools we were given by our parents, throughout the ages. I pray that I have given her a tool box fully equipped with everything she will need to be her best self.

Most parents want big things for their kids. I have always told them that I just want them to be happy. In whatever they pursue in their lives, if they can focus on their own happiness, then they will be successful. What the world needs more than anything is not another banker, or lawyer or doctor, but truly happy people, who love their lives. That is my ever living prayer for my children.

Blessings.

If you enjoyed this piece of writing, I have included a short poem below that reflects some of the struggles of parenting and how we cope with it as it unfolds. It has been the greatest blessing of my life path to embark on this journey and I wouldn’t change a thing.