If you want to know the truth: I’m not proud to tell you. Not even excited. I don’t need a good hug. But in this stream-of-consciousness, speaking-from-the-heart, this-is-the-truth-right-now-but-that-truth-might-change-the-next-minute blog thing that we do over here, that’s the truth of where I am right now this minute. Could be way different tomorrow. I just need to vent. And seriously, I just need to get over myself.
You know all the stuff I said about how close I am with my daughters? So imagine how devastating it is when every time I get off the phone with her, we’ve just waged another battle over something or other. Epic battles, I tell you. We who usually see things so much the same are now at (virtual, over-the-phone) loggerheads over everything, from how late she stays up to how she spends her days. She keeps reminding me that she is the same person with the same morals and the same standards as always, and I keep envisioning that slippery slope that all parents at some point face, where their child turns into this unrecognizable creature with really strange and awful habits. Of course, it CAN happen. We’ve all seen that too. Kids can go off the rails for any number of reasons. But I promised myself (and you) that I wouldn’t live the future ills, I would deal with stuff as it comes, live in the now, not panic about shit that might never happen, not imagine worst-case scenarios.
I’m sure she’s going through her own version of bloodletting string-cutting right now, but I have to leave her to it… Because I have no choice. She’s not coming home to me every night where I can, even surreptitiously, touch her cheek and know she’s not sick, see her eyes and know she’s getting enough sleep, or hug her regardless of which one of us needs it.
I phoned her with a mea culpa last night. I promised I would let her earn her triumphs and make her mistakes. I would try not to wage battle with the deadliest of maternal weapons: “worry”, “fear”, “disappointment”, “dread”.
Wish me luck. Because this is the hard part. Way harder than being sad.
Deb: Oh Barb. I know. They are excruciating growing pains that hurt so much; you think you are permanently damaged. I have felt these myself in recent months as I come to terms with a grown man son. There have been changes in our demeanor but not in our love. And every time I see our relationship shift, I have to remember that. Not clinging, but connecting. And shifting. Yeah. Shifting is the toughest. Shifting is what has been hurting and confusing me. I remember my Mum saying when the boy was baby, “Don’t dwell, because as soon as you do, he will have moved to another phase”. Well said, Mum. So I’m not. Cause he will. Thanks.