I Will Love You Forever….

It’s Mother’s Day this week-end. I’ve always felt a bit strange about this day of “celebration”. It assumes that my children want to celebrate me. If the kids need a predetermined day to “celebrate” me, I suck worse than I thought.

I am not a natural when it comes to motherhood. Call me more of a reluctant follower of biological trends required to keep the planet populated. Children seemed chaotic and would need some attention. I can’t keep house plants alive.

Somehow, I became engaged in the theory of evolution and raised three children under adverse conditions; me being the adverse condition. Aiden is 24, Megan is 22 and Owen turns 15. Yes, all the same father. The large gap throws people off. It’s ok if you raised your eyebrows, you aren’t the first which is why I feel compelled to fill in the blank. What’s important is that none of them are in jail. They are all actually lovely people and I am in awe.

Before Aiden was born, I was doubtful that I would bond with a baby. We already had a puppy. What’s cuter than a puppy?

That all changed the second I held him. I get the phrase “a face only a mother could love“. Aiden was red, wrinkled and definitely the worse for the wear and yet, my heart expanded to the point of bursting. Everything felt so small in comparison to that moment.

I have had four moments that changed me. My marriage and the arrival of each of my children. They are what I call “before” and “after” moments where nothing was ever the same, including me.

From the moment they were born, I was committed to seeing them succeed. I became perfunctory as a mother only because I didn’t know what else to do. There was no way I was going to rely on instinct. I might seriously muck them up. I needed to “master” motherhood. I needed a plan. And plenty of books. I also needed a checklist and a measure of success.

Aiden was a typical young boy and I often wanted to sell him to the zoo. How he and his friend ever thought it was a good idea to fill up the car with water is beyond me. Things were always exploding or being dug up. While Aiden was playing the mad scientist, Megan found her own drum to dance to. She had her own ideas of how to rule the world. For many years, it was tough to get her dressed which made it awkward going to the grocery store. She was also the first one to run away. She packed her bags including her backpack for school. She was going to live in the ditch just down the road from our house. A neighbor came by and reminded her she had school the next day. “I know. I have my agenda and I packed a juice box“. She was six.

My perception of being “perfect” was going to be defined by ensuring that the kids became more than me. I have always carried a shadow that my lack of education somehow defined me and with that, I created my own limitations. I wanted more for the kids. My kids (our kids) would be armed with tools to become anything that they wanted; just as long as they became what I wanted in their formative years. I had their lives mapped out and if we all stuck to the plan, they could become whatever they wanted……as soon as they hit university. Until then, we would check off milestones in order of progression.

My goal was to see them grow to be whole humans who could competently maneuver through life; to become contributing members of society who lived life with joy. The flaw of all this is that I didn’t stop to ask them what they wanted. I wonder if they grew weary with the weight of my expectations? Did they hear ” be your best” or did it sound more like “be the best“?

I was so focused on getting them to the finish line that I forgot things along the way. Like, how did they feel in my presence? Did they feel loved and cherished or did they feel that they could never measure up? When they walked into a room did my eyes light up and make them feel seen and heard or did I refer to my check list and see what was next? Why was I so relentless when it would have been just as easy to stop time and lay in the grass while looking up at the clouds?

I think I loved my kids so hard and so tight that I broke them. I loved them to pieces and not always in a good way. All those times I thought I was lovingly “molding” them when in fact, I wonder if they looked at me wishing the criticism would end. I cringe at how they just stood there; stoic and unflinching. If I never understood their outbursts, I do now. In my efforts to create a masterpiece, the knife I wielded as the loving sculptor made cuts and left marks often unseen to the naked eye in the finished form. It’s only later, that the wounds spill open.

Unwittingly, I likely caused pain and probably some shame to. While I write about my relationship with my children, I wonder how many others out there are grappling with the hurts of their own childhood? Life has a way of picking at the scab, drawing blood and never allowing the wound to completely heal.

Some generations don’t have the skills to build bridges to heal the hurts. Perceptions create misunderstandings, silence holds anger and / or resentment while misinterpretation of intent creates distance. Families are complicated dynamics. We don’t always have a shared context for the same moments and in our own versions, we form what we see as “the truth“.

There were many tense times when my kids were young. My husband was away at school, I was juggling two kids, a full time job and never fail, something in the house always fell apart. One winter, our well went dry and in -40, I was down at the river hauling water back to the house to boil for baths and household use. Student loans were barely covering costs and my job was only just keeping us afloat. The kids were kids and had more energy than I could often rally to. Did I snap more than once? Likely a hundred plus times. Do they remember this? Likely. Did I sit them down and explain all the stress that I was feeling? No. Do we burden our children with the nitty gritty of our lives or just the consequences of them? In my case, I didn’t say what was happening or what I was feeling. My silence likely led to an unintended consequence. In hindsight, there is a good chance that they believed my bursts of anger and frustration were because of them. If only I could rewind the film and start again.

Maybe that’s what makes the relationship between parents and children so fraught with tension. Things left unsaid, moments misunderstood. How do you retrace all the steps to forge a new path?

This has been a year of loss. Many people holding the hand of a loved one for a last time. Standing at the bedside of a parent, reconciling emotions; saying all the things that need to be said before a final passing. This is bravery. Letting go is a final act of courage, a finality that shifts our core. In a fleeting moment, the world stands still and nothing will ever be the same and the heart begins to ache. To ease the pain, an empty heart turns to grief and looks to memories that will fill the void, all while whispering, “please come back“.

It is this time of grieving that we need our people. Weddings, births and funerals are the pillars that connect us and we come together as family and community to share in these moments. COVID has stolen these traditions and we are left mourning in isolation. Grief needs hands to hold and arms that embrace the hurt. Part of the grieving is the collective story telling; laughing at things that once made us cry; crying at the things that made us laugh. It’s the moments that matter and I overlooked this as I marched through my children’s childhood with my clipboard at my side.

My brother-in-law has just walked the path of loss. This morning I read his father’s obituary. “Our best loved dad, grandpa, husband, brother, friend and business partner…….” “He had a generous, kind nature and was greatly loved by everyone, especially the grandkids who each thought they were his favourite…”

How beautiful. How marvelous. To be so loved by so many and to have left an indelible print that changed people for the better. I fear I have been misguided. My definition of success, is now reshaped.

I loved my children fiercely which likely ignited many battles. Tempers would flare, heated words were exchanged and I was grateful we didn’t have neighbors. I realize now that my anger was just a disguise for my fear. I was afraid that I was not enough that that I was possibly failing them if I didn’t keep them focused. I was strict and I regret not giving more space to softness.

Before anyone calls for intervention, I should clarify that Aiden and Megan have now both finished university. Throughout high school, they both were strong academic students, high achieving athletes, were part of student council, keen volunteers and won several scholarships and bursaries for their post secondary ambitions. Aiden is an electrical engineer and Megan has just completed her degree in Public Health Social Policy with a major in Health and Community Services (that’s a mouthful!). By all accounts, they are terrific people and doing marvelous things. The pathway I paved has given them skills that allow them to aspire to their own ambitions. They have crossed the finish line despite me and because of me but I know that there was a cost.

But was it worth it? In the process of helping them “become adults”, I missed so many moments. Yes, I cheered but I didn’t stop to pause, to breathe and to just sit with them and hold their hand in silence. Why? Why didn’t I? I was afraid that they would turn out like me and I wanted more for them. So silly; maybe even a little tragic. Did I ever give them enough place and space to feel completely accepted in my presence or was there always an edge? The sculptor, the knife and the nicks.

I’m guessing for as many times I asked “how did it go?”, I could have asked, “how are you?”. I could have listened more but no, I likely let them tell me the problem and before they could say anything more, I leaped in with the answer and some perceived sense of good advice which was likely awful. Oh my God! Could I have not held back for just one more stretch of silence and let them finish and feel heard?

On Mother’s Day, it is me that feels compelled to celebrate my kids. They have been so gracious over the years. Rarely did they buckle under the nick of the knife. I don’t know how they can be so gracious perhaps it’s because our shared journey was learning what it was to become human. Their early years were harder than the later years. Likely, they saw through my effort to be “perfect” and learned to see that love can sometimes be flawed in implementation despite best efforts and honest intent.

I share this now because Aiden just took a job that takes him nine hours away. He’s been close to us during COVID and watching him pack for this new job tore me apart. Weddings and births are beginnings; so are adult jobs and starting a life of one’s own. Aiden now walks his own path. He is where I wanted him to be; I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to watch this next chapter unfold. I want to pack my bags and join him. Share the chapter and yet, it is not mine to share. These moments are his.

He has become a man and my job is done. We’re at that infamous finish line I imagined all those years ago. It doesn’t feel like sweet success, it feels like loss. Letting go takes place in so many stages of life. I miss him. I miss all of him. I wish I had more moments where we lay in the grass and looked up at the clouds. Like Robert Munch wrote, “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be”

• 

So one has flown the nest. Megan is still at home. She is joy. She came home to finish her degree online. COVID closed the school. While she’s been home, she has opened her heart to me. I have been able to provide more soft spots. We talk deeply and we have developed a new communication style. We call it the “loop back“. Anytime either of us says something that causes our emotions to spark, we loop back. I might say, “I just want to loop back to something you said and make sure I understood what you meant……” This has become a powerful tool that ensures we have more moments of acceptance. We have a stronger relationship and we are slaying the ghosts of the past. It’s been incredibly healing and genuine. If anything, we are taking time to look up at the clouds.

As much as I have hated COVID, I do need to say thanks. I am less busy which means that my family has found me more present and more available. Our conversations are rich, our relationships are honest. I feel like I see and hear them. I lost the clipboard, I stopped making lists and I have nothing to check off except to make sure that I make time for them, that they feel that they matter.

While much of this has been about Aiden and Megan, I want to acknowledge Owen. He has the advantage of a decade “in-between”. He is actually a blog topic of his own (stay tuned!). While he lives under the same expectations of “be your best“, he has had more freedom to evolve which has been a beautiful thing to watch. There’s no pressure. Maybe that’s a byproduct of my maturity or possibly because I am a decade older and a little fatigued. I learned that our environment shapes us, but I need to nurture, not mold. With Owen, I learned my lesson and I make more time to lay in the grass.

To you my beautiful children, thank you for your grace. Thank you for loving me despite…. I’m sorry for the times I wasn’t there. I was busy being busy for reasons that I thought mattered. I’m different now and I want to live the rest of my life living out loud with those that I love and adore. I’d rather lay in the grass and look up at the clouds.

Love is messy and complicated and yet, we lean in with those that we love. It makes me think of a story I heard about otters. They swim together and at night, to prevent themselves from floating away in the swirling sea while they sleep, sea otters often entangle themselves in forests of kelp or giant seaweed to provide anchorage. This is also the reason that they hold hands. They do so to prevent anyone from drifting away.

Here’s to being human and being a little bit better than we were yesterday. Here’s to holding hands and holding on.

With love,

Shelley