Mother's Day

(I sent this essay to my mother for Mother's Day this year)

Every year for Mother’s Day I walk the aisles of Target, peruse Etsy, and search Pintrest for the right gift.  Every year, the options fall short, because what is the kind of gift that says “I am sorry for giving you lice”?  Mother’s Day is tomorrow and my mom is still washing her bedding and replacing hair brushes.  What kind of gift could possibly negate the damaging effects of having been given an invasive parasite?

My mom’s favorite Mother’s Day gifts were the handprint crafts we made at school.  Add in some googly eyes or some cotton balls and that craft was definitely a keeper!  Being 32-years-old, it seems like a reach to break out a stamp pad and some construction paper, but what then do you give to say, “Look at the life you made!  Good job!”? 

While head lice is the most recent of the inconveniences afforded my mom by her children, it is not the worst of it.  I can think back to time when my siblings and I all had the chicken pox, one right after another, leaving my mom with at least one whiny, fevered, and grumpy child for a full six weeks.   Or the multiple times she (alone) made 12-hour drives with the three of us in tow (and on multiple years at least one kid was in diapers). Not to mention the last-minute costumes, forgotten permission slips, dirty laundry, the homework, the bleeding knees, the stomach viruses, the dates of the sporting events, the beautiful flowers planted years ago in anticipation of a spring bloom brought into the house in the dirty fist of a child, packed lunches, that year I grew four inches and had to get new clothes and shoes (twice), oh, and that other time I brought home head lice.

The things we have done to our moms. 

Since becoming a mom, I have found myself scrubbing vomit out of car seats, or lying in the cold tub with a fevered child, or losing a lot of sleep due my children’s bad dreams.  In those fearful, exhausting, and frustrating moments, I think of my own mom and I think- I know what to do because it was done for me.  

In my efforts to find the right gift, it finally dawned on me- the only gift I could give my mother, is love my children well.  To repress the gagging and smile at the sad, sick boy with his head in the trash can.  To sit next to my daughter’s bed at 2:30 am and rub her back, soothe, and assure her.  To stop what I am doing and savor because these are very moments that will float back to my children’s consciousness when the sweet weight of parenting lands on them.  When the decision to choose self or other is before them, they will, without thought, pick up the child covered in bodily fluid and love them well.

Facing (my biggest) Fear

A few months ago my son got lost at the beach.  So lost that we had to call 911.  The next month, my daughter was incoherent, burning up with fever, and ended up in the ER.  I started a long detailed blog post about those events, but in usual form, I didn't finish it.  It felt cathartic to write out what had happened, but it didn't feel good to read it.

The purpose of writing it was to acknowledge my deepest fear.  The fear of losing a child. It is a fear that lives in all parents and motivates us to fight endlessly for our children's survival, but it is not a sentence that we say out loud.  I feel that many people like me, fear the fear of that fear.  But what is that?  Fearing the fear that is caused by a fear? I have had enough cognitive behavioral therapy to know that that is load of crap and I have been challenging that fear recently.

After facing two situations where losing a child became a real possibility, the retaining wall I had built around that fear began crumbling.  And I was left facing it.  It is possible to lose a child.  It is possible for me to lose my child.

When it was my turn to step to that line of possibility, I felt myself at a decision.  While my breath escaped me and heart raced, my mind was on high alert and working beyond normal bounds. In both crises I went into action recalling all the tips and tools offered to me over a life of experiences.  I remembered in blaring clarity to activate a team of people to help find my son.  I found myself laying in a cold bath with my daughter, yet I don't remember undressing or turning on the tap.  Each word of advice from parents before me was accessible and ready for use.

I felt fear in those moments, but I also felt this great perseverance.  There was no stopping or giving up or thinking of myself, there was only action and energy and focus.  In both of these situations, the fear that has haunted me since my first positive pee test, stood before me. And while it existed as rapid breathing and shaky fingers, it had no power over my mind.

To have both situations resolve with the best possible outcome has brought me gratefulness and joy- two things that are opposite of fear.  Those feelings have stayed with me.  They forced me out of "what if" and into now.  And I look back wondering- how much of my life has been lived in "what-if"?

My husband has been on a journey with mediation and mindfulness for the last year.  I have taken on some of the ideas and practices, and there is a quote I recently heard that has stuck with me.  A small truth about our projections, our fears, and our doubts.  Something that comes from a place of reflection.  Like for me- encountering my fear and then looking at it square on.

"We suffer more in imagination that reality."- Seneca

There are poignant things to be said here, but I would fail to do them justice. I want to you encourage you if you read this at a time of fear.  You won't feel this way forever.