Posted in Family, Grief, Motherhood, Thanks

I am his very first call…

“Mom, I got bad news totally out of the blue.”

The text flashes across my screen.

“You free?”

My heart starts to pound.  My hands get sweaty.

“Yes.” I respond, gathering my nervous self as together as possible.

It feels like hours until the phone rings.

“Is he hurt?”
“Did his girlfriend break up with him?”
“What about his job?”
“Has he been arrested?”

All those crazy, but somehow normal mom thoughts fly at me from all directions, the “I-WANT-HIM-TO-BE-OKAY” mom thoughts.

My phone finally buzzes.

“Hey honey, what’s up?” I ask, hoping I sound calm and not like I’m ready to hear the worst news ever.

He talks to me about what’s happening.

I try to just listen.

He tells me how he really feels.

Now, I lean in quieter and harder, because this is a newer thing he’s comfortable sharing.

As we get to the end of the call, he thanks me for my support and says, “I love you, Mom.” 

“I love you, too, honey.” I answer.  “It’s all going to be okay.  You will be okay.”

I press the red hang-up button.

Tears well and come tumbling out.

But not for the reasons I thought they would.

They are not there because of the sad and hard that my son is experiencing, even though I feel all those same feels.

They spill out because of the gratitude that seeps into my soul, knowing that I am his very first call.

His very first call.

The way I want it to be.

His very first call.

My mama heart rests peacefully.

Posted in Family, Grandparenthood, Grief, Marriage, Motherhood

I Want to Numb It!

I want to watch Law and Order.

I want to eat coconut almond joy ice cream.

I want to wash every sheet and towel in the house.

I want to take a nap.

I WANT TO NUMB IT.

I don’t want to sit with the sadness of saying goodbye to the summer.

I don’t want to sit with the sadness of saying goodbye to my husband and children and their loves.

I don’t want to sit with the sadness of saying goodbye to the squeals of laughter from my most adorable grandson.

I don’t want to sit with the sadness of saying goodbye to the fireworks, the sandy flip flops, the bike rides and eating pizza without guilt.

BUT I WILL.

I won’t watch Law and Order at least until later tonight.

I won’t eat ice cream until tomorrow.

might wash some of the sheets and towels, but not all of them. 

I will stay awake, sit on the porch and make friends with this place I find myself in.   I am sad and that’s EXACTLY where I am supposed to be.

I am also strangely okay.

Front porch, summer’s end, here I come.

“A time to laugh.  A time to weep.”  (Solomon)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Family, Motherhood

My House Empty but My Heart Full (to my fellow ordinary moms)

“Yes, please get a new cup every time you get a drink of water.”  (No Mom Ever)

I lie alone in my bed on a very normal Wednesday night at 11 pm here in our sleepy little town.  My husband, the heart of my heart, is at his apartment 350 miles away, where he works three days a week.  Our oldest is hopefully sleeping soundly snug next to her husband with her baby boy a few short steps away in his crib (praying he is not sleeping like a baby, but more like a teenager) over two hours away.  Our blond hair, blue-eyed first-born son, is probably nodding off in his apartment after a really long day working.  My away-at-college senior might just be tackling a paper he has procrastinated writing.  My baby, 19 year old curly-headed musician, is the farthest away, probably jamming away with friends on guitars, keyboards and microphones.  My house is empty and my heart is scattered all over the East Coast.

Only eight short years ago, life was completely different.  On those weekday nights, after showers were taken, toilets were flushed, teeth were brushed, homework was done, video-game playing came to a close, hugs were given, “I love yous” were said, all five of these people who my soul loves lay their heads on pillows within 20 feet of my own.  My house was full and my heart was in one place at one kitchen table under one roof.

Yet tonight, as I lie in my very empty house, and although my heart is scattered, it is not empty.  My heart is FULL.  Full because on the very ordinary day, I have been loved by all the incredible people I shared the better part of my life with in one place at one kitchen table under one roof.

“Thanks, Mom, for all you did for us today.”  (phone call from oldest as she was finishing up dinner with her new family after I had spent time caring for her baby and doing their laundry)

“See you this weekend, Mom.” (reminder from third-born about Friday night)

“Shalom to you too, beautiful wife.” (text from hubby as he heads to dreamland after our discussion about what peace really means)

“Love you too, Mom.” (text from son in response to our discussion about us getting him a puppy for his birthday)

Just as I cuddle up under my covers and am about to turn off the light, I receive one last “ding” on my laptop.  It is the last of the bunch, our “Bug,” as she is known in these parts.  And it is for no reason at all.

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Lest you get some crazy notion from all this loveliness that this is how it’s always been or always is even now, let me set the record straight.  Under this one roof at one kitchen table in one place, we had our moments.  Fights over the huge and minuscule (there was even one earlier this week and it was a doozy).  Broken rules and boundaries.  Critical spirits and hurt feelings.   Addictions and mental illness.  Slammed doors and silent treatments.  Sickness and sadness.  Harsh words and ignorance.  All the things that make up normal FULL family life.

But as today reminds me, this is NOT all there was or is now.  Under this one roof at one kitchen table in one place, there were also “I’m sorrys” and “I forgive yous.”  Respect and authenticity.  Forgiveness and encouragement.  Freedom and healing.  Open hearts and honest conversations.  Health and joy.  Kind words and understanding.  All the things that make up normal FULL family life.

So, Fellow Ordinary Moms and Wives who are…

STILL UNDER ONE ROOF:

I see you.  I was you.  It’s hard.  Look up, Sweet Mama.  Keep up the good work.  Hang in there.  You are amazing.  The days are long, but the years are short.  You’ve got this.  Your family is normal.  These people you love, but are ready to kill at any given moment, are worth every ounce of love you can muster and are pouring out and into them.  They will make it.  You will make it.   You will never regret it.  It may seem like there’s no end in sight, and your stuff feels huge (AND IT IS), but it will (AND THEY WILL) be okay and even possibly wonderful.  Never forget this one truth:  LOVE IS ALWAYS THE RIGHT DECISION!

ALONE IN YOUR BED:

I see you.  I am you.  It’s hard.  Look up, Sweet Mama.  Our hearts are scattered, yet they reach more places.  Our love that we gave and are continuing to pour out is multiplied beyond measure.  Hang in there.  It will feel sad some days.  It does for me too.  I miss those times under one roof at one table in one place.  But it will (AND WE WILL) be okay and even possibly wonderful.   Even though the end is in plain view (and possibly in the rear view), we must keep loving and giving ourselves to our people.  Even though our houses are empty, our hearts can be full.  Never forget this one truth:  LOVE IS ALWAYS THE RIGHT DECISION!

(One heart-wrenching note: for those of you who have lost children, I can’t even imagine.  Your heart has been shattered beyond belief.  It’s hard for me to speak to you because I don’t understand.  I really don’t.  But I do know that the love you showed them while they were here is not wasted.  It’s continuing to multiply over and over again because love is like that.  You loved them with your whole heart.  In turn, they loved others with theirs.  That’s what this world needs and you have given it freely and sacrificially.  Thank you for taking that risk we all are taking as we love our children with our fierce mom love.  I’m so sorry, Sweet Mama.   My heart is with you and all us moms collectively salute you and hug you with our hearts.)


When our daughter became pregnant with our precious grandson, I was giddy.  Not because she was going to produce a grandchild to me, even though that’s a lot of fun, but because she was going to join the massive, never-ending “Mom’s Club” that I am a part of.  There’s nothing like it.  We understand parts of each other that no one else does.  We take a gigantic risk loving this human being, but we can’t help ourselves.  We give each other that look (maybe of desperation or joy) across the room and the other mom sees our hearts behind our eyes.  There’s nothing like it.   We turn to each other in times of great heartache and are comforted.   When we can’t speak with our mouths because the joy or the pain is too deep, we receive unspoken affirmation through hugs from each other.   There’s nothing like it.

So Sweet Mama, thank you for loving.  Thank you for sharing your heart with another.  Thank you for making your little world a much more beautiful and safe place.   You’ve got this!  And together, we’ve got this in spades!