The beautiful is so intrinsic between parent and child. And that is the absolute beauty in the creation of this bond; it can be tested and tried in so many ways. Some are truly the beautiful and yet the challenges that tear along the seams, may scares us into thinking it will all unravel- but it never fully does.
Bonds that can be tested in things like bloodline or bad choices, show the stuff that it's made of. Can a bond be created where the “blood” doesn’t carry the same DNA? Can it withstand the DNA ties that do exist? Can the bond withstand age, inexperience, substance abuse or dangerous choices? Can the bond withstand hatred, confusion or anger?
All these things that bind us up, ties us up, rip at places we wish didn’t exist- but that is silly because they do! And all the bad and ugly out there is but a speck of dust on that bond. For the beauty for forgiveness and grace, have such power, to hear it utter as the power for freedom.
We all have a tale to tell, don’t we? We all have our version of “my teenager mother…”, with its own flavor. Some struggle to let go what they’ve clung to it as blame or fault or grudge. Some desperately need the bad and ugly to justify exactly where they are and how then ended up there. Each day ends and night begins, we can reflect on our choices, know ourselves precisely and responsibility falls nowhere but where you stand.
The beauty of looking at a life, such as mom’s, is you can compare it to your own. How much have I screwed up these past thirty-six years and it's been all me. How much have failed as a parent, and it was completely my own shortcomings? When I was sixteen I was an egotistical brat; caught up in my icey, juvenile mind to see beyond the scope of my needs, my desires, my self-involved thought process. What would I have done with a child? What good would I have served it? And do I dare believe I could’ve done it better than her? I’ve earned enough humility these past few years in my sobriety, in my salvation and in the tears of my children to even believe I’d hold a candle to her.
For whatever her faults, I carry ten times more. Whatever stones I feel entitled to throw- many people I have wronged have their hands fall of the stones they may hurl towards me. I have no stones to throws and the failings of my mother only made her love and devotion in the right moments a fortified bond, unbreakable and unstoppable.
Mothers aren’t put on this earth to be their children’s friends. And while maybe a few do, most mothers don’t owe their adult children anything (certainly not an explanation). My mother was never my friend when I was a child. She was my voice when I had none, she was my hug was I cried in fear or confusion, she was kiss when I needed assurance, she was my spank when I needed correction and she was my example when I needed a lesson. She was my mother when I needed to know I belonged and always unconditionally loved. The beauty is I am no longer a child, and growing up with a mother that grew up too, created a friendship into my adulthood. A friendship that can share the hard stuff and it be nothing but a silly memory that wisps into air and is no longer a concern. A friendship that has stupid inside jokes, and the comfort-ability of being completely who I am because she instill such a sense of fun, strength and honesty into me.
I hold my sons and I examine all the ways they’ll share their tale of me! The bonds I am forging now. How might this bond be so terribly tested? How will I fail them? How many times? Daily? Weekly? Monthly? Yearly? Will the DNA matter to Zach? Will my anger at times matter to Isaac?
Will they remember when I was weak and I let them down? Will they tell a tale of all the things that haunt me as a mother that doesn’t do it perfect? Do I let them down too much? Oh, what will they say of me?
And I think of my mother and the stories I tell. They are warm memories wrapped in the craziness and intimacy of my bond with her. They are lovely and they are beautiful, they are filled with forgiveness, laughter and pure friendship. That is the beautiful. I can accept that I will fail my boys and they will tell their story of home some day! But I have no worries of what it will include. For whatever story I may create for them in a day, that they will tuck inside of their memories, I know for sure it will include the necessary ingredients creating an unbreakable, unstoppable bond. I am the voice for them if they have none, the hugs I never stop supplying, the kisses that fill up their faces and make them squirm, the correction that may make them mad and I am their lesson in the right thing I’ll do and all the wrong things I’ll do. I am their mother and they will know they belong and are unconditionally loved. I am not their friend, I am their mother!
But the beautiful thing is, we are growing together. And someday, sweet boys, someday I will be your friend. And so will Grammy.
No comments:
Post a Comment