It’s the saga of the Empty-Nester. How can it be? Summer comes to an end and we are sending our almost-all-grown-up kids off into their next big adventure – college! Can you believe it? Where did their senior year go? How do you wrap your mind around this?
I couldn’t be more proud of my two daughters going off to college. They are everything to me. I have been so busy this past year working and helping them through the chaos of high school’s senior year, the reality of an empty nest hasn’t sunk in. It was kind of a blur. We slogged through studying for SATs, SAT tests, water polo tournaments, Homecomings, finals, drivers’ education, driving practice with me (absolute terror…!), driving tests, college applications, visiting colleges, college admissions, senior projects, college decisions, proms, end of year events, graduations, parties, prepping for college, buying a gazillion things for their schools, traveling to their campuses and forms, and finally, saying goodbye. Oh my!
But suddenly, my heart is gripped with a strange melancholy. Where there was once noise and happy chaos in my home, silence reigns. This is going to take some getting used to…. My babies have flown, my nest is empty. I send them off with endless love and support. I’m extremely proud to watch them soar. And now, I reinvent myself in this world. We are all three off on new journeys of exploration. Amazing.
…
1, 2, buckle your shoe! Floods of memories, floods of tears. Rapid-fire memories: baby being born, 1st sight of baby, baby being placed into my arms, loving this baby, eyes opening, dark blue eyes. The wonder at the first glimpse of this world.
First first first: First school, first grade, first time to buckle that shoe! 3, 4, shut the door! Those slamming doors! So much noise. Can’t get away from it. 5,6, pick up sticks! They start to learn skills. They start to become little people, not just babies.
7,8 lay them straight! But what if they don’t lay them straight? What if they lay them crooked? What if they lay them sideways? Thinking differently and different ways of thinking and it’s all okay. It’s okay, it’s okay, It’s okay. We’ll figure out a path. We’ll find a new school. We’ll get through this together. And we do! If we’re lucky, we stumble upon a school or even a single teacher that understands our children and how they learn.
9,10, do it over again! And again, and again, and again. However many times it takes until those kids become experts. And they do and they learn, and we learn too! And suddenly, suddenly, they’re out the door. Out the door and flying the nest!
But where does that leave us? At home with the nest – a nest that oddly seems smaller and rather dingy around the edges. And that strange, unsettled feeling like we’re forgetting something. Where did those children go? Where did those big eyes go? The sticky little fingers, those adorable wee toes – gone gone gone! Where did childhood go? How did it unfold so quickly? Just when we were getting the hang of it, it has come to an end and they’re off on their next adventure. And so are we!
9, 10 do it over again! And we do it over again and again and again, and we step into the next chapter of our lives – empty nesters watching our children move into their future. 9, 10, do it over again! Eventually, there will be grandchildren, and we may fall onto this circular journey of life once more, but in a different capacity. 9, 10, do it over again.
I would do it over and over and over again – even though it was so much work and heartache and pain. Even though! There was also loads of love and laughter. Don’t forget that. How lucky we all are. 9, 10, do it over again…. Yes.
Tag: adoption
Mother’s Day 2024
Mother’s Day is here again and with it come sweet memories of new arrivals, sleepless nights, and watching your little ones grow up and move out into the world. Motherhood is the toughest job you’ll ever love.
I remember when the adoption of my eldest daughter came through and I was finally going to be a mom after many years of heartache. I went to church that morning and the priest asked the mothers in the congregation to come forward to receive a flower, celebrating their important role in society. I quietly sat back in my pew, watching almost every woman in the church walk down the aisle to receive their blossoms. It didn’t occur to me to join them. My then-husband prodded me and said, “Hey, you’re a mom! You need to get a flower.”
At that moment, it dawned on me that yes, indeed, I was a mother. The reality hit me with a resounding thud. Through the endless official documents and interviews and too much time waiting, the idea that one day a child would call me ‘Mommy’ had not sunk in. But our daughter was on her way. Soon, I would hold our newborn infant in my arms and breathe her sweet baby essence.
A baby. My baby. My daughter was arriving through the magic of adoption. I found it tremendously challenging to shrug off the lingering sense of being a fraud as I cautiously navigated my way down the center aisle of the church, feeling I could get called out at any time for being an interloper. “Hey lady, where’s your kid? Sit down – you’re not a mom!” But I knew in my heart I was. I took a deep breath and gratefully accepted my pink carnation from the priest.
After a few weeks and a very long flight to the other side of the globe, all my dreams would come true. And they did. In wild ways I never expected! Days before my adopted child was born, I found out I was also pregnant with a surprise baby. True story! And what a surprise she was. After years of fruitless fertility treatment, this child appeared out of nowhere to take her rightful place in our lives next to her beloved sister.
My two young daughters instantly became the apples of my eye. Life is exhausting and chaotic with one new baby in the house, much less, two. But it was a labor of love – I had the children of whom I dreamed – children that were never supposed to exist. When you’re told you’ll never have a family – but the universe throws a miraculous curve ball at you – it’s hard not to gape in wonder. I literally felt thankful every day. I was doing all the mundane things I never thought I would do – singing lullabies, warming bottles, changing diapers. Nothing exciting but everything I wanted in life. I was at last a mom. Eventually those little girls began calling me “Mommy”. I cried the first time it tumbled off their lips. But just like that, I was Mommy! So much magic, so many blessings, so much love.
My neighbor, Susan, stopped me on the street one day and brazenly asked me what kind of drugs I was taking. What was she talking about? Susan explained, “Listen, I know you have two babies in your house, and you’re sleep deprived and miserable, yet I see you walking up and down the street every day with that heavy double stroller and you’re glowing! You must be on something to smooth over the bumps, right?” I was at a loss for words. How could I begin to explain that I’d found wonder and purpose in my daughters’ eyes? I shrugged, gave Susan a smile, and kept on walking. If she didn’t understand now, she never would.
‘Mother’. Often the moniker is taken for granted, but never by those who have struggled for it. You earn the title of ‘Mother’ and when you work hard for something, you appreciate it more. It’s a fact. I have never gotten over my good fortune in becoming mother to my brilliant daughters. They make me proud every day.
Mother’s Day holds a special place in my heart. On this day, I remember the sad, dark years when I was swept into the chaos of fertility treatment and despair – and I whisper a prayer of thanks to the universe. When my children appeared in my life, the slate was wiped clean, and the crushing pain evaporated as though it had never existed. Being mother to my vibrant and hilarious daughters hasn’t been easy, but it’s been wonderful, filling my life with laughter. I can honestly say motherhood has made me a better person – stronger, more compassionate, more loving. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed this beautiful, rambling journey.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms and grandma’s out there, and to anyone who assumes the demanding and rewarding role of mother in a child’s life. You matter. And you make the world a better place. Have a fabulous day!
Rainbows, Unicorns, and Muppets
Why do I love the song, “The Rainbow Connection”? I don’t know, I just do. It strikes a chord in me. It’s simple and earnest. Not trying to be anything but what it is – a ray of hope in a challenging world. The Kermit the Frog version is adorable. The song was actually written for “The Muppet Movie” so, honestly, how deep could it be? But somehow those words and that gentle tune move me every time I hear them – the innocence, the joy, and the optimism.
“Why are there so many songs about rainbows? And what’s on the other side?”
The Willie Nelson version is my favorite – the coarse but strangely vulnerable way Willie caresses the lyrics as though he’d pulled each word out of his old, weathered heart. Something about hearing that grizzled crooner sing about love and dreams…. It rocks gently in my heart like a creaky front porch swing from which you have gazed at the stars, night after night, year after year, farther back than you care to remember. It’s a wistful ballad about finding that elusive love at the end of the rainbow. Do you still believe in it? Love, I mean. Do you?
“The lovers, the dreamers and me…”
Do you believe in love? And not just love, but romantic love. Whether you are married or in a relationship or in between engagements, ask yourself that and answer from the heart. You know – love! The kind that fills your heart with champagne bubbles and allows you to skate through life with rose-colored glasses. Everything is better, happier, more beautiful when you are in love. I believe in it. I do. And I think the writers of that lovely, whimsical song do too.
“Have you been half asleep and have you heard voices? I’ve heard them calling my name.”
Sometimes late at night, in between dreams, voices from the past call you to remember. Remember! Remember those moments that have long since evaporated into time, yet arrive to haunt you if you give them space. Remember? Yet the whispers of the future pull you forward impatiently, like the ocean tides. This life-long tug of war can be exhausting especially as we grow older and memories pile upon us until we can’t draw another breath.
You must surrender to the whims of the tide or it will tire you out and pull you under. Don’t fight it! Accept life for what it is. As Monty Python’s boys say “Life’s a piece of shit if you really look at it.” So, don’t look that closely. Wear those rose-colored lenses and laugh so hard you cry. At everything! At life. At anger. At fear. It’s impossible to see clearly through tears. But maybe life looks better a little blurry?
“Rainbows are visions but only illusions and rainbows have nothing to hide.”
What I wonder is this — at what point does someone settle in and refuse to move forward? At what point will a person simply give up and choose not to continue – continue with life, the routine, the game, the same old-same old? And how do you help someone who doesn’t want to be helped?
“How are you doing, Mom?”
“It’s 5 o’clock and all I want to do is sleep.”
“It’s still early. Why don’t you watch a movie?”
“Don’t nag me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help.”
Sleep, sleep, perchance to dream. But some people don’t dream happy, cotton candy dreams. Some are tormented by the shoulda- woulda- couldas in life. There are no do overs and hindsight is 20-20. How does life sometimes veer off the tracks so badly? How does someone get so beaten down they want to throw in the towel?
“How are you, Mom?”
“Just woke up from a nap.”
“Why don’t you go for a walk?”
“I’m too tired.”
The indomitable 55-year-old woman she once was would be disappointed in the forlorn 85-year-old version. The world is against her now. She wakes up exhausted, never quite finding solace in the pillow through those long, dark nights. Never quite finding joy in the morning light. Life is no longer being lived but simply endured. She’s the crabby old lady living down the street.
How did my once-glamorous mother become this? The clothes are “schlepping” clothes. Why bother dressing up? She’s not going anywhere. Not trying to impress anyone. She mends the ripped knee and wears them still though she has 10 pairs of brand-new trousers in her bedroom.
“Why don’t you give those away and wear the new ones I bought you?”
“These are still good.”
Still good. But why? The Depression mentality. Yet she doesn’t have enough years ahead of her to wear them all out.
“Okay. Still good. Yes…. “
Please don’t give up! She’s giving up. Surrendering. My heart breaks every time we speak as she whiles away her days sorting through endless junk mail instead of writing the book she threatened to write for decades. I want to read that book! She has so much wisdom to share. She was a fervent trailblazer for women – a role model to so many. Don’t waste time, Mama! You don’t get it back.
She exists in a quiet melancholy – not happy, kind of sad, a little angry. Disappointed. Life never turns out the way we hope it will. So much sorrow. The weight of it all pulls her down. Where is the person I used to know? So strong, so wise. Fierce. Time steals that passion, like a thief in the night, and ever so gently, our loved ones are spirited away. God has a funny way of taking matters into his own hands and we rarely understand why.
“Who said that every wish would be heard and answered, if wished on the morning star?
Such power in faith. Make a wish! Maybe the wind will catch the thread of your desire and spin it into something bigger than all of us? I wish… When I am an old lady, I shall wear my hair long. I shall thumb my nose at the world and sport high heels and red lipstick and beautiful clothing. I shall laugh and sing and dance until the sun sets on my final hour. I want to wrestle the last breath out of this life before I take my ultimate bow. I refuse to live my last years in a hazy twilight. I want my life to sparkle. Ever notice how a shooting star gets bigger and more beautiful just before it disappears into the heavens? Like that.
“Somebody thought of that, and someone believed it. Look what it’s done so far.”
If I’ve learned one thing during these years I’ve spent on earth, it’s that it’s all about perspective. The glass may be half empty or half full but that the glass is refillable! Again, and again. You can reinvent yourself today. It’s never too late. It breaks my heart to see my sweet mom trade living for existing. The young, spirited her would have never approved. But the old her doesn’t give a damn.
“What’s so amazing that keeps me star gazing….”
“Expect a miracle,” they say. Define miracle, I ask. If you look too hard, you’ll never find it. A watched pot never boils. Why is it so easy to help those we don’t know and so difficult to help those to whom we are close? Too many hidden feelings. Too much sorrow. Too much suppressed resentment. In the old days, children were to be controlled as parents attempted to mold them into perfect little adults. It was rarely successful. Parents and children often became estranged once the kids were old enough to move out. The parents represented discipline and restriction. If you were raised in that sort of world, how do you suddenly become friends when you are both adults? Parents are still disapproving. Still disappointed.
Though far from being a model mom, one thing I seem to have done right in life was to forge a strong relationship with my children. I mean, I’m still the mother and ultimately make the big decisions, but it’s not a monarchy. I listen to my kids and try to make decisions to will benefit us all. Sometimes it’s hard and I’ve messed up too many times to count. But we laugh. We laugh! We like being together. We always have fun and grow a little closer every day. I’m eternally grateful for that gift. It’s the magic Kermit the Frog sings about in the song.
“We know that it’s probably magic!”
Magic. Laughter. A fond touch. A warm smile. All the things that make us feel loved and valued. They are all here. I’m not a great mom, but I’m a good mom. And that’s enough.
“I’ve heard them calling my name….”
Sometimes those voices from the past call out to me, reminding me of everything I was, and everything I’ve become: fragile yet strong, vulnerable yet tough. Eternally hopeful. That’s me. Always seeking that ineffable connection – “The Rainbow Connection” perhaps? Maybe that’s the secret? Connection with others is the only way we can keep going in this world – arm in arm – hand in hand – the lovers, the dreamers, and me.
“Why are there so many songs about rainbows? And what’s on the other side?”
Merry and Bright
I’m not a morning person. Never have been. Nonetheless, I respect the virtues of a beautiful morning. There’s something incredible about seeing the sun slip gently over the horizon and cast brilliant golden light onto the dark earth. It always overwhelms me with a sense of possibility. A new beginning set before us. A second chance. Hope.
You’d think someone with such a great appreciation of those fleeting morning hours would bounce out of bed each day with abandon, but sadly, that’s not the case. I’m somehow cursed to be both a night owl AND an early bird, staying up reading or tapping out stories on my computer until the deep hours of the night. Morning always arrives far too soon, and those glorious rays of sunshine offend my eyes and drive me to plunge ever more profoundly into my pillows, in a desperate quest for the last few moments of precious sleep.
Through the years, I have tried to change my schedule and make myself into a virtuous morning person. Morning people always seem to have it going on, don’t they? They thumb their noses at the night and gloat about their many achievements already completed by 9am, when those exhausted owls finally abandon hope of further sleep. I find that deeply annoying and yet, at heart, I must admit I do believe morning people are indeed more productive than night dwellers.
When I wrote my first book, I got up at 5:30 every morning and drank copious amounts of coffee until I completed the manuscript. It was the only way, as my nighttime mind was too often cluttered with the debris of the day to focus on the work. The shimmering silence of a new day provided me with a profusion of clarity. It was a gift, and I took advantage of those fragile hours at dawn until the deed was done, always taking time to peek out the window at sunrise to catch a glimpse of the new day’s glorious arrival.
But as soon as the final word of my tome was written, I bade goodbye to the early hours and fell back into my usual nocturnal routine. We, as humans, are intrinsically flawed, and this love of night and slothful sleep is perhaps my greatest weakness. Oh, for the New Year, I aspire to embracing the wee hours of the morning once more to raise my level of production in 2023! I will try. We all can dream.
On this fine morning of Christmas Eve 2022, my eyes flew open early, when the day was still quiet and golden. A small voice in my head whispered, “It’s Christmas!” and so it is. A smile drifted over my face, and I felt a twinge of childlike delight in my heart. Christmas. I love Christmas. Since my youth, it’s been a moment of magic and joy. I found it remarkable that every family around the world was touched by this elusive elf, clad in red velvet and snow. The excitement was almost overwhelming for little me.
That ethereal quality still lingers in my heart. Christmas! As a sensible adult, I understand that not everyone celebrates this holiday, but I get a quiet thrill from knowing that Christmas has transcended the constrains of the religious and is now considered a season of its own. The Season of Christmas! I love that. A season of joy, no matter your beliefs. The Christmas Spirit is available to one and all. It’s all about love and yours for the taking. How wonderful. And it starts today.
Honestly, as an adult and a parent, Christmas Eve is more about finishing up those last-minute chores for the big day – wrapping gifts, writing cards, preparing festive food, and driving kids to the shocking chaos of the mall for last-minute gifts. It’s hardly a day of rest and daydreams. And yet, when my eyes opened on this Christmas Eve morning, I was awash with the joy of the season. Love. Hope. Possibility. Magic. It’s all there.
I watched the sun cast her gilded rays over the mountains this morning and chase away the darkness of the rest of the year. That’s gone now. Christmas. I put on the soft strains of my favorite holiday music. Christmas. I whispered, “Thank you,” aloud to the day. I get to celebrate another Christmas with my loved ones. Amazing. Christmas. Life is the greatest gift of all, isn’t it? And I’m still here, after all this time. What a blessing.
Merry Christmas to you! May it be both merry and bright.
The Chipped Bowl
In Western cultures, we tend to value perfection. When something breaks, we throw it away and buy a new one. Value is placed on that which is flawless. It is quite the opposite in the East. According to Wikipedia, the Japanese word, Kintsugi, refers to a broken item, such as a chipped porcelain bowl, which has been meticulously repaired with gold or silver thread, highlighting its imperfection, and in that way, celebrating the unique quality of the bowl. The chipped bowl becomes even more precious to the holder because of its flaw. I find that both lovely and remarkable.
We always look forward to the annual gathering of our families at the holidays. We idealize that time together and imagine it will be carefree and loving, like the warm and wonderful scenes in a Christmas movie, everything merry and bright. The reality is often not quite that. How did Thanksgiving go for you? What is it about a large meal with extended family that brings out the worst in people? It could be the combination of rich food, alcohol, and conflicting views on sports teams? Maybe.
All efforts to maintain civil behavior seem to fade into the bountiful slices of pumpkin pie and melt away with the vanilla ice cream. There’s always the family member (or two) who drinks too much and gets messy. In my family, the dinner conversation would somehow always turn to politics during dessert. Of course, no one agreed, and before long, fireworks seemed to explode over the table. We children would look at each other with something akin to terror. Please God. Not politics. But, there was no stopping it. Like clockwork, all the kids would rise and silently start clearing the table. Better to wash dishes than listen to grownups argue.
The adults never said a word to us, or maybe they didn’t even notice we’d left. When the table was finally clean, and the dishes were sparkling, it was time to go home. Goodbyes were sprinkled all around and hugs were exchanged as we hurried to our cars, clutching our boxes of tasty leftovers from the feast. Everyone breathed a unified sigh of relief as we drove away into the night. Thanksgiving dinner – check! Moving on.
Erma Bombeck once said, “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without a little emotional scarring.” It’s the deep truth in the words that makes them funny. To her credit, the illustrious Ms. Bombeck also said, “There are friends, there is family, and then there are friends that become family.” I kind of love that. For me, it is my friends who make the world go round.
Families. Holidays. Arguments. Stress. People wax poetic on the importance of family, but sadly, family life too often is less than idyllic. Every year we send and receive holidays cards with photos of our families looking happy and successful. It’s easy to believe that these lovely families don’t have a worry in the world – indeed, once more, all merry and bright. But, the truth is hidden behind the smiles. Family can be precious and beautiful but also jealous and unkind. Your siblings are supposed to be your best friends but what if they are not? People move away from home and put thousands of miles between themselves and family for a reason. Just because someone is related to you doesn’t mean you like them. Or have anything in common with them. It makes sense that these annual gatherings are often fraught with tension.
The blood link is considered strong, but families that can actually live and play together peacefully through the years have a unique gift. It is the exception, rather than the rule. The rest of us must do the best we can. The modern world has created families through marriage, divorce, blended families, and adoption. Many of us have made our own families from a ragtag group of misfits who simply fit together – like missing puzzle pieces, reunited at last. The people in our lives should love us for our imperfections, not in spite of them. Like the beautiful, chipped bowl, repaired with golden thread. Kintsugi. Perfectly imperfect. During this holiday season, remember to be grateful for the people we call ‘family’ in our lives. Not the ones we are supposed to love, maybe, but the ones we do love. Like the chipped bowl. Perfect.
Happy Holidays to you and yours.
The Universe, Outer Space, Earth, and Me
William Shatner recently made it back from his civilian trip into space, courtesy of Jeff Bezos. Upon his return, Shatner spoke of the overwhelming grief he felt while being in space and seeing earth in all its unique blue-ness, so small and insignificant in the universe of deep, black nothingness. It made Shatner realize that here on earth is “where the love is.” That’s what he said. This is it. This is the place. Love can be found right here. And it made him profoundly sad to know that we are polluting this pristine environment and throwing it away. All of this is a gift – a miraculous gift and we are turning our backs on it.
Space – darkness, fear, cold, claustrophobia, solitude. What do you think of when you think of outer space? Of bobbing around in a spaceship, a million miles from anywhere? Would you want to take a trip out there? I love the concept of it, the principle. Of seeing what is beyond our little world. How fascinating the planets and stars and solar systems are! But then fear would stop me in my tracks. I wouldn’t want to go for fear of never coming back. I would feel absolute terror that I would not be able to return.
I remember watching an old Swedish film called “My Life as a Dog.” In the film, the narrator is a little girl who is vaguely obsessed by a dog. At that time, the Soviet Union had launched a dog in an unmanned rocket ship into space. The dog’s name was “Laika.” And poor Laika would never come home. The Soviets though it was a wonderful idea and apparently watched the dog eventually perish as his little space capsule swirled away, lost in the stars. The little girl was deeply troubled by this. Throughout the film, she wondered how Laika was feeling, if Laika was lonely or scared or hungry or in pain. If Laika knew she wouldn’t make it out alive. Did she know she was going to die? What was Laika thinking?
I loved the sweet simplicity of the child’s thoughts. And indeed, I shared sympathy for poor Laika, sent out into the universe, never to return home. Home. Our little blue planet. I was quite taken by Shatner’s account of his grief. What we have here on this planet of ours is so truly remarkable and most of us never take note of it. We just keep going day after day – same old shit. Instead of breathing in this life, this planet. Realizing what a gift it is to be here, to be alive, to have our feet on this earth. Was it all predestined or a magnificent mistake? Who knows. But here we are. Home.
Sometimes I have this this overwhelming urge to go home. I’m homesick and wistful and just want to go home. And then I realize I am home. But is this really it? Is there nowhere else to go? The home I knew as a child, I left long ago when I set off for college on the faraway East Coast. I only returned for short visits, but never again to live there as my home. My mom and her beloved dog are there still but it doesn’t feel like home to me anymore. The neighborhood is full of old memories I don’t want to remember and the dreams of children who grew up and floated away.
They say you can never go home and alas, perhaps they are right. Where is my home? When my children go off to college and their rooms are suddenly empty, where will I go? Or will I simply stay here and build a new story of my own? What will that be without their laughter and joy? That happy noise? Just four walls and a ceiling – the little old lady who lived in a shoe. Not a home, per se. Just a place to lay my hat until the next adventure comes along. A leaf drifting in the wind, searching for that ineffable Shangri-la that lives in my mind. Home.
Homecoming
As I assist my beautiful teenage daughters to get ready for their Homecoming dance – the dresses, the shoes, the hair, the makeup – I remember far too well my own Homecomings at my own high school many years ago. Home coming. Coming home. A rite of passage for Americans, as old and young, we gather back at our childhood schools and reminisce. I was so very young, as are they. So very young, indeed, yet trying on womanhood for size and seeing how it feels. Watching these young ladies, my daughters, slightly gawky, slightly insecure, terribly beautiful, and now very tall, stepping out all dressed up makes me feel proud, yet wistful. I can’t help but wonder where the little children who populated the last two decades of my life have gone.
A child is someone who passes through your life and disappears into an adult. We watch it happen and cannot believe it is so. Sometimes I feel sad and miss the funny little souls that they were. Even slightly panicked, as though I’d misplaced those children somehow, when I wasn’t paying attention. Look away and you’ve missed their childhood. When you’re in the thick of it, the days feel long, and it feels as though life will always be like this. The routine will never vary. You’re in it for life. They will be young forever. But that’s just a mirage in the mind of a sleep-deprived mother. Because they do grow up whether you are a dutiful mom or not. There’s not stopping the swift passage of time.
As we roll forward into thoughts of college and the next step in the lives of my kids, I miss the mommy that I was and the simple life we had – playing at the park, eating ice cream, napping, taking long walks with the double stroller, somehow managing to get them both back into their car seats, folding up all 40 pounds of that stroller, and tossing it into the back of the faithful minivan. Spending time learning and laughing together.
I fondly remember nighttime prayers and endless choruses of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” That particular song was slow and gentle and soothed them into a deep sleep. I only remembered a few verses but would sing them over and over again until either they fell asleep, or I did. I wondered if the lyrics might scare them but of course they heard the song the way a child might, in words that make sense to them. “Swing Low, Sweet Cherry Eyes…” “Cherry Eyes.” That’s what my daughter thought I was saying. No rhyme or reason needed. So funny and dear. It was simply the soothing quality of my voice that they craved at the end of the day.
A year and a half away from high school graduation, and I am feeling grateful for the times we had. That I succeeded in raising them alone though I had no idea what I was doing. Never did find an effective handbook with all the Motherhood How-To’s. Grateful that their addict father didn’t damage them irreparably along the way. I was always there to pick up the pieces and be the responsible parent they needed. Grateful that they love me and that we all love each other as they’ve grown up. A lot of families are not so fortunate. Grateful every time I hear them say, “I love you, Mom,” even as they are running out the door. Grateful that I represent safety to them. Grateful for the dear children I thought I would never have.
I still don’t know how to do this motherhood thing and have surely made thousands of mistakes. But I am still here, and I have my daughters’ hands gripped in my own. One child for each hand. And as such, we will travel through the rest of my days until they take the lead and I fade into beloved memory, many years from now. Though we live in a society that fears old age, I welcome each day and every day I can spend with these two souls. My daughters. As they travel through life, I am their guide. How did all this happen? Who knows? Life is ever mysterious and beautiful.
Wrestling With COVID
You wonder where I’ve been – COVID! To the other side and back. And it’s truly as horrible as they say. I know I should be grateful for the two vaccines and one booster for making my symptoms so much more mild, but as I’m in the throes of it, I ask, mild? Really? My symptoms have been anything but mild. I squint at my keyboard as my eyes have become incredibly painful and light sensitive.
My bout with COVID hit me like a freight train. Headache and extreme exhaustion, chills, and actual teeth-rattling shivers. I went to bed and was awakened, blazing hot, with a 102-degree fever, body aches, and a headache that was impossible to fathom. I knew this was something bad. I’ve never been so blindsided by a flu. I took a COVID test and watched with horror as the truth was revealed – two lines. Positive! Oh shit. Those damn little spiky cells had somehow wormed their way into my body and were wreaking havoc. Shit shit shit.
What do you do if you have COVID? I didn’t even know. Suddenly it seemed everything I touched was full of those awful spiky bastards. It was kind of terrifying. How was I going to avoid giving this to my daughters? Or my cats? But there’s no one to take care of me, I realized. Such is the sad reality of being a single parent. Everything is manageable until you get sick and then – then – well, everything goes to hell. I’m so scared my daughters will get sick, but there’s nothing I can do to prevent their exposure except wear a mask and isolate as much as possible, as we live under the same roof.
So, COVID? What are the basics? First, I googled it, as we do. Rest, fluids, blah blah blah. That’s for a mild case. I called the doctor – a stroke of brilliance from my stormy mind. The headache has been unrelenting. The doctor put me on some new drug called Molnupiravir. It’s not yet approved by the FDA but I said let’s give it a try. My symptoms progressed as the first day wore on to include heavy chest and nasal congestion, a sore throat and cough. Crazy. Everything just snowballed upon me. And that headache! You know it’s bad when you’re lying in a pool of pain casually wondering if you might gain any relief from a hole drilled into your skull? That’s next to agony. But my 800 mg Ibuprofen tablets were doing little to relieve anything.
The doctor prescribed antibiotics and steroids to reduce the swelling in my bronchioles and to kill any secondary infections. I still feel sick. My joints hurt like they are arthritic, I’m coughing deep, heavy coughs, and my skin is incredibly sensitive to mere touch. I keep telling myself that this too shall pass, but it’s hard to believe when you are in the middle of it.
My friends have come to my rescue, texting and calling to cheer me up. One wonderful friend picked up my antibiotics and food for my daughters, and dropped them to my door. #Grateful. Yes, grateful, indeed. I find myself falling asleep and then waking at odd hours of the night. With the strange hours come deep thoughts that ring true: Actions speak louder than words. You can say whatever you want, talk is cheap. It’s what you do that matters. Friends who show up for you. Family who shows up for you. Whether it was calling to say hello or a sweet text wishing me speedy healing, each one mattered to me. It means something if they reach out and means something if they don’t. So many people have died from COVID. It’s not a stretch to call it ‘life-threatening’. It is, and that’s scary.
I, like so many, often struggle with the reason for us being on this earth, living this life. The vast ‘Why’s?’ never seem to have an answer. Is it a divine plan? Or a crazy mistake? Does our life here on earth mean something? Or nothing at all? Why are we here, mere specks of dust swirling in a vast universe of darkness and light? How did we all happen upon this life on the third rock from the sun? And why do we matter? We will never have the answers to these questions.
But it is true that the journey in this world is certainly more difficult for some than for others. And kindness seems to be the remedy for that. Compassion. Caring for each other. Because we are all walking different roads and sometimes a helping hand or even just a smile can lighten the load for another. Is that so hard to do? Be kind, and people will treat you with kindness. Or not! There are some difficult souls out there who will never see the light, but that doesn’t mean you should stop. Don’t become bitter. Be kind.
And have fun! We are a society that works too hard and spends too little time enjoying ourselves. We work ourselves into our graves, and what a waste that is. Take time to smell the roses. Quite literally. I make myself stop and smell beautiful flowers that I come upon. It’s these little joys that make up a patchwork of happy memories in your life and provide a soothing balm during the tough times.
Lastly, be with who you love. Don’t give up if you are in an unhappy relationship and assume that’s simply your path and your burden in life. It’s not. Get out! Make a change. Pursue happiness. You only get one shot at this life, why spend it with someone who doesn’t bring you joy? Don’t let the constraints of society dictate your bliss. Follow the light. Seek love and joy. Find the person that makes you laugh and makes your heart sing. They may be just around the corner. Seek them out! And try to find a splash of delight in all you do.
That’s all I’ve got for tonight. Stay healthy, my friends! And be happy.
Holding Out for Dawn
By Elizabeth Kate
We recently celebrated Valentine’s Day – a holiday so often fraught with unnecessary pressures and stress. I try to avoid the anxiety and focus on the love, because isn’t that what it’s all about? I think so. I took a moment to write loving valentines not to a significant other, but to my children. Why? Because I adore these kids.
I spent many years of my life struggling to get pregnant and failing miserably. Trying to adopt and hitting a wall. It seemed I was destined to live life without ever playing the coveted role of ‘mother’ until my life transformed, and I became mommy to not one but TWO gorgeous baby girls. Miracles abounded.
Mommy. Such a magical word. One I thought I’d never hear whispered to me with sticky peanut butter and jelly kisses. But my dearest wish came true, and I was unceremoniously thrust into the world of parenthood. I welcomed it with open arms and have enjoyed every day of this crazy ride – the good and the bad – because the journey is one I never thought I’d take. The babies were children I thought would never be mine. So, I embraced the sleepless nights and all the madness that came with it.
I got divorced along the way and fought to keep my head above water during that more-than-two-year ordeal. My life has been colored by proximity to people struggling with addictions. Thankfully, I don’t mean my daughters. Dealing with addicts is never easy and through the years, the challenges have come at me fast and furious. But I survived.
We survive because there is no other choice. We survive because we must, because there are people depending upon us. We survive because this is our life, and we won’t get a second chance. The trick, however, is to not just survive, but to thrive. To find joy in the little things and not let yourself sink into self-pity. Because tomorrow is another day, and they say the night is always darkest just before dawn. I’m holding out for dawn.
The beautiful constant in my life has always been my love for my daughters, who are now 16, by the way. We’ll call them ‘Serena’ and ‘Alexandra’. It’s hard to imagine that I’m the mother to teenagers with all the crises and angst and sheer goofiness that comes with adolescence. But I am. And I love it, though our road together road is pitted with potholes and certainly never easy.
My girls and I like to watch old episodes of ‘The Gilmore Girls’ and laugh at Lorelai and Rory’s follies because so many of them echo our own. I’m mom to my daughters, first and foremost, but I’m also their friend and confidante. How lucky is that? And while I try to be a ‘cool mom’, sometimes I’m woefully uncool and wonder how we will ever make it through the drama of the day. But we do. Every time.
Someone once told me that if you don’t know how to pray or don’t have time to pray to God or to the Universe or to whatever you believe, it is enough to just say ‘Thank you.’ That resonates with me. ‘Thank you.’ So easy. I try to step through a life paved with gratitude, because there really is so much beauty – if only you would take the time to see it.
Thank you for reading this.
~ Elizabeth
Musings of a Super Mom 