I watch my sister-in-law closely. She is pregnant – heavy and cumbersome – with her third child. She is consumed with diapers, feedings, playtime and naptime.
I watch my mother closely. (She is not pregnant.) She has no children at home. She has no buses to meet, no jeans to hem, no school projects to oversee. Her grandchildren have parents who are fully capable of running their own lives – most of the time – and meeting their own children’s needs.
My sister-in-law – even if she so chooses – has little time to pursue hobbies, interests or outside pursuits. My mother, on the other hand, has the time to widen her horizons and develop skills and talents too long ignored under the guise of being a hands-on mother and grandmother.
My mother’s role is changing. Her eldest daughter’s children are becoming self-sufficient and her youngest daughter, with her husband and two pre-schoolers, is moving away. Her only son has his own life, his own priorities.
“I used to have a knot in my stomach every day around 3:00 PM,” one of my older acquaintances once told me, “because I knew in minutes my kids would come bursting through the door – home from school – breaking the peaceful solitude of my day. Now I have a pit in my stomach every day around mid-afternoon because I know NO children will be bursting through my door – they are both grown and gone.”
I watch my mother closely. She talks of not being needed. She infers she is being shut-out. I respond as best I can – reassuring her that it is not a case of not being needed, but rather a natural pulling away that offspring do in order to assert their independence and make their own way.
I watch my mother closely. She seems to be listening. She discusses getting more involved in philanthropic endeavors. She plays Mah Jongg spontaneously with her friends and goes on a day’s outing to Indianapolis. But still she grieves.
A holiday weekend comes. My brother is busy with his new wife and her family. I am booked for an extended family outing with my husband’s relatives. My sister and her brood are occupied with packing for their move to Virginia. My mother and father are alone.
We go the park with my husband’s family and toss Frisbees. An elderly couple approaches me hesitantly and asks if I would take a picture of them picnicking on a blanket amidst the spring bulbs and budding trees. I do it eagerly – hungry for their story.
“It’s for our daughter, who lives in Milwaukee,” they explain. “We want to show her we have a life.” They laugh and so do I.
By 5:00 PM, we are home. The kids are still wound-up so they help my husband mow the lawn. They help me weed. In between chores, they play soccer and wiffle ball in the backyard. I am surrounded by them and their activities – temporarily safe in a cocoon of my own weaving.
At 7:30 PM, the phone rings. I answer hurriedly. It’s hard to hear. Louie is practicing his sax five feet away and Sam and Max are fighting over the TV.
It’s my mother – a note of jubilation in her voice. “Guess where we went?” she asks gleefully.
“I can’t image,” I reply honestly.
“To the zoo,” she exclaims. “We went the zoo – just your father and I. And oh what a time we had!”
I pause. I sigh. Tears of relief well-up in my eyes. “Good for her,” I think silently.
I don’t watch my mother as closely now. She’ll survive because she is learning that there IS life after children and grandchildren – one just has to search a little harder sometimes to find it.
The above was written in 1993.
My sister-in-law went on to have three more kids – for a total of six – all who are now out in the world – pursuing and growing. As are ours.
My mother and father have both passed away.
And me, like my mom, am learning that there IS life after children and grandchildren – I, too, just have to search a little harder sometimes to find it.
No matter what stage you are in, Happy Mother’s Day.
And Keep Preserving Your Bloom.
Iris Ruth Pastor