Who’s Raising Who? Fourteen Years Of Being A Mom

 “And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it’s done
I hope you don’t mind
I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you’re in the world”

-Elton John, Your Song

My brother died 10 days before my wedding. I was caught between suffocating despair and the happy prospect of marrying the man I love. But I didn’t think I’d ever feel pure joy again. I couldn’t imagine joy in a world without my brother.

Six months later we lost my Grandfather. My big strong Grandpa. The Purple Heart Marine with the big booming voice. I will always believe that he died of a broken heart after the loss of my brother. A few weeks later I found out I was pregnant.

The sun started to peek through the darkness, just a little.

Nine months later my beautiful baby boy was born. He came into the world wailing and thrashing. “Feisty” was the word that came to mind. Barrel chested and dark hair. He was strong and vibrant and ready to take on life.

I was scared out of my mind. I had spent my high school years babysitting, but I felt like I didn’t know how to do this, being a parent. I was responsible for this other person and I felt inept and inadequate.

I was scared I wasn’t feeding him enough. I was scared that he would stop breathing in his sleep. I was scared that he was in a pain and I didn’t know it. I was scared that there was something wrong with him that I was missing. I was scared that I was screwing it all up. I was scared that he knew that I had no clue.

I was scared that he would get sick and die. The impossible such a real possibility to my family.

Fear dominated the first few months of my son’s life. Every doubt about myself magnified in the face of motherhood. Every fear I had after watching my brother suffer intensified as a possible threat. Could it happen to him, my baby?

And I worried that he could sense my fear. I didn’t want to put that on him. I didn’t want him to grow up neurotic. I didn’t want my stuff to affect him, to change him. Another thing to worry about.

As the months went on, he proved me wrong. He defied all of my worries and fears. He was thriving. He was full of life and provided endless hours of entertainment for me and my husband. I would look at him in awe. He was a part of me. I couldn’t’ believe that something so beautiful and amazing came from me. I mentally attributed it all to my husband.

Now my son is fourteen years old. I’m watching him grow into an amazing young man. He’s compassionate and smart and funny and good. He’s good. He seems unscathed by those early years when his mom was fighting anxiety and fear. He’s happy and confident.

I watch him play with his little sister and I see a glimpse of the father he will be. A loving, nurturing dad. Like my husband. I see him smile and laugh with his friends and I  see the natural charisma that his father carries. I watch him run, swim, play and I see the natural athlete that is my husband. I see him crack a joke, his dry subtle wit reminiscent of the humor that made me fall in love with my husband.

I listen to my son ask questions when we’re in the car. Questions about world events. I listen as he talks about Syria. And Egypt. And North Korea. Israel and Palestine. He wants to talk about Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown and Eric Garner. He wants to watch the morning news and catch up on what’s going on in the world. I listen to him as he gets mad, I see his frustration and anger towards people that hate. He doesn’t understand. And I see a little bit of me.

I see the look he gives me when I’m fishing in my purse for a dollar for a man with a sign on the corner. He takes the ten dollar bill out of my wallet and hands it to me. His look says it all. He needs it more than you, mom. On another occasion I watch with overwhelming emotion and pride as he pulls a few dollars out of his own pocket when I am out of cash and a homeless veteran is standing at the stop light.

I watch as he insists on buying a small toy for his little sister. Even though I know he wants to save up for the latest video game, he’s willing to hold off a little longer to bring a smile to her face.

I watch all of this and I feel more joy than I ever thought possible. My son opened up my heart again fourteen years ago. He proved me wrong. The pain of losing my brother isn’t gone, but I’ve learned that the pain doesn’t eclipse the joy. The two can co-exist.

I watch all of this and I feel pride. My son’s a good kid. I think he’ll grow up to be an amazing person. One who works hard and who cares. Cares about those he loves and about those he doesn’t even know. I look at him and I know that I did some things right. I know that along with my husband we’re raising a good person. And I realize now that our raising him isn’t the remarkable thing.

We raised him for the last 14 years, but more importantly, he raised us.

I’ve grown in to motherhood. My husband has grown into fatherhood. All on my son’s dime. He had to endure our learning curve. His burden similar to that of many first borns. His siblings owe him a debt of gratitude for him teaching us how to be parents.

As I look back on the past fourteen years, I see how far my husband and I have come. How much we’ve gone through, how much we’ve navigated. As I look back I realize that the credit isn’t ours alone.

Thank you, my sweet beautiful boy. You’ve been patient and you’ve navigated this path with us.

Thank you for taking our lessons, for enduring our long lectures. For humoring us when we think we’re cool. Thank you for still letting me into your world. For sharing your thoughts with me. Thank you.

Thank you for allowing me to feel joy again.

Thank you for raising some pretty o.k. parents.

Thank you for being you.

Because who you are couldn’t make me any prouder.

 

 

 

 

24 Comments

  1. Before you go to sleep
    Say a little prayer
    Every day in every way
    It’s getting better and better

    Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
    Beautiful boy

    Happy Birthday to your son, Gretchen. I have no doubt that you’re raising a wonderful soul.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Beautiful post.
    It’s so encouraging to see young people interested in what’s going on in the world around them; to have opinions, to actually care and want to make a difference. Doubly so when that young person is your own child. Good for you both!

    Like

    1. Thank you so much for saying that. I love how aware and conscious he is about everything going on. He’s been that way as long as I can remember. I certainly don’t push world issues on him, he just always takes note. I sometimes tease him that he’ll one day be Secretary of State. Not a prospect he’s fond of, of course…

      Liked by 1 person

  3. dammit. You made me teary…again. How do you do that? I talk about boobs on my blog, and you write these touching, amazing posts. ANYway, this isn’t about me. This is about your incredible piece of writing here And your son’s birfday!!! Hope he had a great one. xoxo

    Like

    1. Beth! I’m gonna kick your ass if you downplay your writing again! No one can write about boobs like you can. That is a rare talent. Seriously, you are able to make me laugh and cry with your writing. But thank you for your always sweet and supportive words. ❤

      Like

  4. Yes. We learn as much from our kids as they learn from us. Like you, I will never forgot those first moments and days after my first son was born. There was the fear, but there was also this … that I finally knew and experienced unconditional love and the joy of a child. For that, I will always be grateful to my kids.

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      1. Ah, well, yours is only 14. Mine are 19 and 17. The last few years, particularly with the 19-year-old, have dramatically changed my view about whether the craziness is worth it. Still love the kid, but it’s been a struggle.

        Like

  5. I love this post so much. I’ve been grappling with the coexistence of pain and joy recently, so I needed to read these words. We all have to grow into roles thrust upon us as we handle their unique struggles.

    Like

    1. Oh, Sabina, I hate to hear that your going through some painful things. I hope that whatever it is that’s bringing you joy is fulfilling and lasting and wonderful. And I really thought it wasn’t possible to feel both, but I know that it is. *hugs*

      Liked by 1 person

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