Maternal Ramblings
It's Friday. I have Saturday, Sunday and Monday morning left. It has crept up slowly, and yet passed in the blink of an eye. How. How do I ensure he knows I love him before he goes.
Today I am befallen with episodic tears. They sweep over me in waves as thoughts of the last 22 years drift in and out of my mind. He is not here to see them, which is as it should be, and, if I can help it, how it will remain. My son. My one real accomplishment. How.
Memories.
I remember the moment you came to be. The sparkle I felt as your life began. You are a part of me. Most would say I gave you life. I would disagree, it was you that gave me mine.
Sparkle gave way to a massive belly full of rumbling, tumbling baby boy and a heart full of love. We had a scary start, you and I. Delivery wasn't easy, I was so tired I didn't even see you being born, but the moment they handed you to me, my cheek pressed to yours, there was no taking my eyes off of you. Somehow I knew your color wasn't right, I told the nurse, she said it was natural. Then at two days old you weren't brought to me for feeding. A convulsion. Spinal tap. Prayers. Meningitis. Doctors telling me you might not make it, that if you did there was every reason to believe there would be brain damage. Incubators. IV's. Transfusions. Prayers. Sleepless nights. Christmas in a hospital bed. Going home without you was the hardest thing I ever had done. Six weeks of visits without holding you. A gloved hand thrust into a plastic box to stroke your tiny hand. Such a cruel start. The day you finally were laid back in my arms was one of the happiest of my life. I thanked the doctor silently, he had truly saved your life. Prayers were answered, no damage, no issues. How strong you were for one so small. How helpless I felt. But we survived. Home we went.
Our next challenge was really mine. It was you that gave me the strength to get through it. Rage against myself I tolerated for reasons I am still trying to understand, but your arms outstretched calling to me when it erupted in front of you was all it took. I gathered you to me and we left. My love for you saved me. It always has.
We did alright. On our own we managed through shared meals of pastina and baby food for a while. Gradually we built up a home in that one bedroom apartment. I will always remember your blue feety pajamas, the way you would sneak out of bed in the morning to eat brownies in the kitchen. You thought i didn't know, though your face was full of chocolate and the floor scattered with the bits of nuts that you'd picked off the top. I remember bath time, reading to you... "Cozy in the Woods", "Half a Haycorn Pie", singing "Shake Shake Shake Your Sillies Out" and the Barney song, the way you liked it when I warmed the towel on the radiator. I remember setting you on the vanity and drying you off. Smiles and big, big hugs - such a beautiful boy. At night I'd sing you to sleep, "Edelweiss" "You are my Sunshine" and the silly words I made up for Brahams Lullabye.
Soon it was time for preschool. "My Mommy is special to me. She smiles at me and I smile back". The time I was called into the office there over concerns that you were experiencing some kind of stress. "Christopher is taking to holding his head in his hands and moaning about the mortgage and the money" they said. I found it strange, since I didn't HAVE a mortgage. When I asked you, it became clear. "March of the Wooden Soldiers" was your current favorite movie, and as you always did, you were merely reciting the words the Old Woman who lived in the shoe spoke when Marley was coming for her house. My Son - the film buff. You retain your love of film today. Soon you will leave to pursue your passion at college - still photography. Who knew then? I guess you did.
Every teacher you ever had told me at back to school night what an absolute joy you were to have in class. What a nice and considerate person you were, how eager to help and how kind to other children you were. It always made me cry. You were the kid that defended the weaker, or the different. Learning to play chess with that little boy they picked on in daycare, so he would have a friend to play with. My son who has a heart of gold. My son who never asked Santa for anything for himself without also adding "and a diamond necklace for my Mommy". My son who left his allowance out on the cookies and milk table in a box with a note: "Dear Santa, this is for you and the elves". I still have that box and note. Your heart is so very precious.
I have a box of school work and projects, drawings and stories. I also have the gifts you would buy me at the school store. A necklace with a carousel horse on it, bought after you rode your first merry go round. A replica of the Titanic necklace when you were ten (since Santa never brought me one, you did). A lipstick case in the shape of a swan, since you knew I liked swans. Those gifts have given way to Yankee gifts - each one so very thoughtful. I want to tell you I'm sorry I never wore the Titanic necklace, but it is tucked in my jewelry box and is so very loved.
We made it through the school years. We made it through your "black period". My singing you to sleep was replaced with your walkman, then your ipod. Your room is full of game consoles, guitars you used to play, computers, tv, camera equipment. I tried to nurture your interests. I hope I did. I probably overcompensated for not being able to be a stay home mom. Our time together has never been more than mornings and evenings. Weekends. The occasional vacation. I have so many memories, but I find myself wondering as time grows short, have we shared them with each other enough? I find I want to sit and talk with you endlessly, but you're not terribly interested in that now, are you?
You're 21. My god, weren't you just 2? 6? 12? Just yesterday you got your license, and your first car. Somewhere in between we moved to this house. Somehow I managed to buy it. Somehow I managed to get you your second car. Somehow I've managed to get you through your associates degree and now you are soon to be on your way to your BFA. Don't you see - everything I've done, "accomplished" has been for you.
I wonder if it has seemed that I wasn't really here for you. I wonder if you know how much you are loved. How do I explain that everything I've done in the last 22 years has everything to do with you? You gave my life structure and meaning and a purpose. I'm Chris's mom. I am so very proud of you. You are the one people call when they are stranded. You are the one friend's mothers trust. You are the one mothers wish their daughters had stayed with. You are a reliable employee, up at the crack of dawn without complaint. You are too self deprecating, a little shy and sometimes naive, but you are good to the core. You came to me that way, I take no credit for it. My life has been blessed with you. I want so very much for you and I am excited for your life to take wing I just wish it didn't go so fast and that I was better at letting you know how very loved you are.
I hope I have served you well. I will always be here for you. I'll always be Chris's mom. You gave me life.
When I leave you at your dorm on Monday, my cheek will press to yours, and you will know. I love you.
Today I am befallen with episodic tears. They sweep over me in waves as thoughts of the last 22 years drift in and out of my mind. He is not here to see them, which is as it should be, and, if I can help it, how it will remain. My son. My one real accomplishment. How.
Memories.
I remember the moment you came to be. The sparkle I felt as your life began. You are a part of me. Most would say I gave you life. I would disagree, it was you that gave me mine.
Sparkle gave way to a massive belly full of rumbling, tumbling baby boy and a heart full of love. We had a scary start, you and I. Delivery wasn't easy, I was so tired I didn't even see you being born, but the moment they handed you to me, my cheek pressed to yours, there was no taking my eyes off of you. Somehow I knew your color wasn't right, I told the nurse, she said it was natural. Then at two days old you weren't brought to me for feeding. A convulsion. Spinal tap. Prayers. Meningitis. Doctors telling me you might not make it, that if you did there was every reason to believe there would be brain damage. Incubators. IV's. Transfusions. Prayers. Sleepless nights. Christmas in a hospital bed. Going home without you was the hardest thing I ever had done. Six weeks of visits without holding you. A gloved hand thrust into a plastic box to stroke your tiny hand. Such a cruel start. The day you finally were laid back in my arms was one of the happiest of my life. I thanked the doctor silently, he had truly saved your life. Prayers were answered, no damage, no issues. How strong you were for one so small. How helpless I felt. But we survived. Home we went.
Our next challenge was really mine. It was you that gave me the strength to get through it. Rage against myself I tolerated for reasons I am still trying to understand, but your arms outstretched calling to me when it erupted in front of you was all it took. I gathered you to me and we left. My love for you saved me. It always has.
We did alright. On our own we managed through shared meals of pastina and baby food for a while. Gradually we built up a home in that one bedroom apartment. I will always remember your blue feety pajamas, the way you would sneak out of bed in the morning to eat brownies in the kitchen. You thought i didn't know, though your face was full of chocolate and the floor scattered with the bits of nuts that you'd picked off the top. I remember bath time, reading to you... "Cozy in the Woods", "Half a Haycorn Pie", singing "Shake Shake Shake Your Sillies Out" and the Barney song, the way you liked it when I warmed the towel on the radiator. I remember setting you on the vanity and drying you off. Smiles and big, big hugs - such a beautiful boy. At night I'd sing you to sleep, "Edelweiss" "You are my Sunshine" and the silly words I made up for Brahams Lullabye.
Soon it was time for preschool. "My Mommy is special to me. She smiles at me and I smile back". The time I was called into the office there over concerns that you were experiencing some kind of stress. "Christopher is taking to holding his head in his hands and moaning about the mortgage and the money" they said. I found it strange, since I didn't HAVE a mortgage. When I asked you, it became clear. "March of the Wooden Soldiers" was your current favorite movie, and as you always did, you were merely reciting the words the Old Woman who lived in the shoe spoke when Marley was coming for her house. My Son - the film buff. You retain your love of film today. Soon you will leave to pursue your passion at college - still photography. Who knew then? I guess you did.
Every teacher you ever had told me at back to school night what an absolute joy you were to have in class. What a nice and considerate person you were, how eager to help and how kind to other children you were. It always made me cry. You were the kid that defended the weaker, or the different. Learning to play chess with that little boy they picked on in daycare, so he would have a friend to play with. My son who has a heart of gold. My son who never asked Santa for anything for himself without also adding "and a diamond necklace for my Mommy". My son who left his allowance out on the cookies and milk table in a box with a note: "Dear Santa, this is for you and the elves". I still have that box and note. Your heart is so very precious.
I have a box of school work and projects, drawings and stories. I also have the gifts you would buy me at the school store. A necklace with a carousel horse on it, bought after you rode your first merry go round. A replica of the Titanic necklace when you were ten (since Santa never brought me one, you did). A lipstick case in the shape of a swan, since you knew I liked swans. Those gifts have given way to Yankee gifts - each one so very thoughtful. I want to tell you I'm sorry I never wore the Titanic necklace, but it is tucked in my jewelry box and is so very loved.
We made it through the school years. We made it through your "black period". My singing you to sleep was replaced with your walkman, then your ipod. Your room is full of game consoles, guitars you used to play, computers, tv, camera equipment. I tried to nurture your interests. I hope I did. I probably overcompensated for not being able to be a stay home mom. Our time together has never been more than mornings and evenings. Weekends. The occasional vacation. I have so many memories, but I find myself wondering as time grows short, have we shared them with each other enough? I find I want to sit and talk with you endlessly, but you're not terribly interested in that now, are you?
You're 21. My god, weren't you just 2? 6? 12? Just yesterday you got your license, and your first car. Somewhere in between we moved to this house. Somehow I managed to buy it. Somehow I managed to get you your second car. Somehow I've managed to get you through your associates degree and now you are soon to be on your way to your BFA. Don't you see - everything I've done, "accomplished" has been for you.
I wonder if it has seemed that I wasn't really here for you. I wonder if you know how much you are loved. How do I explain that everything I've done in the last 22 years has everything to do with you? You gave my life structure and meaning and a purpose. I'm Chris's mom. I am so very proud of you. You are the one people call when they are stranded. You are the one friend's mothers trust. You are the one mothers wish their daughters had stayed with. You are a reliable employee, up at the crack of dawn without complaint. You are too self deprecating, a little shy and sometimes naive, but you are good to the core. You came to me that way, I take no credit for it. My life has been blessed with you. I want so very much for you and I am excited for your life to take wing I just wish it didn't go so fast and that I was better at letting you know how very loved you are.
I hope I have served you well. I will always be here for you. I'll always be Chris's mom. You gave me life.
When I leave you at your dorm on Monday, my cheek will press to yours, and you will know. I love you.