**I haven't written anything for a long time. Lots of life has been happening in the past two years. I plan to start again - not sure if this is good or bad; you decide.
If I were to have a re-do, I have often said that I would give
the concept of parenting longer and harder consideration. Of course, I love my kids, but parenting has
been THE most difficult, stressful, and painful task of my life.
From the moment a mom gives birth to a child, she is already
starting the separation process - not only the physical separation but also the
emotional one. I suppose to the average
person, that makes no sense. Logic says
that the bonding process begins and continues for the rest of our natural
lives, but logic and emotion rarely keep good company.
With regard to my son, I have experienced three seismic
shifts. The first occurred when he was
around two - when his sister was born.
For the first two years of his life, I think it’s safe to say that Nick
and I were pretty tight; we spent a lot of time together. Nick was born in February, during one of the
coldest winters I can remember. As a
newborn, he would fuss at night, presumably because he was cold. The fussing would stop when I put him on my
chest. My warmth and beating heart would
calm him down, and he would go right to sleep.
I know that was a large no-no, but it was one way for all of us to get
some sleep.
As a teacher, I had/have my summers off, so during his first
summer of life, Nick and I went for morning and afternoon walks. We lived a couple of blocks from a fish
hatchery, so I put him in the stroller, and he, the dog, and I walked up and
down the row surrounding the fish ponds.
Likewise, each night, Nick let me rock him to sleep. To this day, there is nothing better than the
weight of a sleeping child on one’s chest.
Rock-a-bye sessions ended abruptly with the entrance of a baby
sister. It’s not that Erika was
demanding to be rocked at night. On the
contrary, she wanted nothing to do with being rocked to sleep. I’m not sure what happened, but what I do
know was that something broke, and it couldn’t be fixed.
The next separation occurred around the time Nick was 14 years
old. That was the year a new youth
pastor came to town. Prior to that
moment, our little family of four had spent a lot of time together - camping,
biking, etc - all the “normal” things that family do. But when Rocky showed up, Nick grabbed any
and every excuse to spend time with him - whether at his house or at
church. To most, this would be
considered a good thing. At least, he
wanted to spend time with a mentor with good values.
For me, it signaled more grieving. Of course, I could have been more firm about
the situation - insisted that Nick spend more time with us and less with Rocky.
But when the rubber meets the road, how much fun is it to try to function as a
happy family when one of the members is sulky and protesting? Therefore, we didn’t fight it - for good or
for ill - and in the long run, Nick turned out to be a good kid. Nevertheless, that was a distinct time when I
heard another loud crack in the structure.
It’s been almost two weeks since my son got married, and it’s
been a long, sobering two weeks. The
kids went on a week-long honeymoon and wanted to open gifts and cards the
Sunday after they returned. My husband
immediately picked up the phone to call his mom and dad to come over as
well. I stopped him, and when he asked
why, I said, “There are rules now.”
At first, my husband was upset with me, but after a while, it
dawned on him. He understood that one of
the new rules is that we can’t do the inviting when it comes to their home, and
that’s just one rule.
Another rule is that I can’t just text my son. I can, of course, but typically he
responds back to me from in a joint text with Candace. I have nothing to hide,
but the conversation changes when both are included in the message. The conversation is less relaxed, more filtered,
and includes an unspoken distance that wasn’t there before.
The last vestiges of the infrastructure have crumbled, and now,
there is a chasm that can’t be crossed. The newly-established wedding band on his finger is a sign of new construction.
Don’t get me wrong. I am
happy for my son. He is the most happy
that I have ever seen him in his life.
He adores his wife, and it seems pretty clear that she is enamored of
him as well. As a newlywed often does,
she gazes into his eyes with unabashed affection, and she finds any excuse to
hug and touch him. This is the natural
order of things; this is how it should be.
My head knows this to be true, but my heart is struggling.
And this is why I would have second thoughts about parenting if I
were given a re-do. At the risk of
sounding melodramatic, the growing pains are often more than I can bear. I suppose that with time, I will find a new
normal, but for now, it’s a struggle. I
miss my son, but I know we can’t go back, only forward.
