This post is completely unrelated to Joe Wellington. As was
the last post I made. But I enjoy that this blog has taken on a form of its
own, exploring life and appreciating little gifts here and there as I walk this
journey. And, I guess it’s not entirely off-topic, as Joe Wellington wasn’t
created out of thin air. I’m sure he adores his mama.
Lately, I find that any moment I can have to myself doing
whatever I want is very hard to come by. My son is almost two and very
spirited. It takes a lot of energy to keep up with him, and enough patience
that would qualify me to be a Zen Buddhist monk.
So a girlfriend and I, who has a son the same age, decided
to do a swap one day every week in which one of us has both boys while the other does
something for herself. It may only be for an hour or hour and a half… but to
me, it is a heavenly hour and a half.
This week, I was able to submerge myself into that
heavenly moment of tranquility. I didn’t have a plan but I knew I was going to
be able to leave my son with our friend so that I could find something to do. The weather being hit or miss, I decided to
test the weather Gods and head off for a walk along the sea. I was able to sit
on a bench and watch the waves crash against the sea wall for a good fifteen
minutes before the hard rain fell. A sheltered bus stop gave me some relief
until the wind picked up and I ran to my car.
I sat for a moment, listening to the rain pound on the car
and wondered where I should go next. A café? A store for shopping? But I became
mesmerized watching the rain and the hardcore, determined joggers fight their
way along the parade through the rain and wind to their stopping point.
Then my stomach started to tighten and guilt tempted me to
drive away and find something to keep me busy. However, knowing my son was
okay, I stayed put. My stomachache increasing, I tried a quick meditation to
help relax. But I couldn’t. My mind continued to think… think… and think… and I
wasn’t even thinking about anything in particular. But I could not rid the
guilt.
I reclined the seat back and saw a clearing in the clouds.
The sun poked through for a moment and I breathed along with the racing puffy
clouds above me. “Aotearoa”, or “Land of the long white cloud” is where my
husband and I live, 9,000 miles away from our mothers.
In that moment, I thought about being a mum and how funny it
is that I didn’t know what to do with myself once I actually had a moment to myself. Have I completely forgotten
what it feels like to just sit, alone with my thoughts? Am I that attached to
my son that I can’t allow myself to relax even when I know he’s in good hands?
Apparently the separation anxiety goes both ways.
These thoughts led me to examine the term “letting go”. I’ve
often heard the term, mostly in relation to unhealthy situations, specifically
around addiction, but it is now taking on a new meaning for me as a mother. Am
I supposed to start the process of “letting go” even though he is only two? How
is that possible?! He still loves his little stuffed doggy, still prefers to be
rocked at night, still cries for a cuddle when he’s uncertain or hurt… how am I
supposed to let go?
That’s when I came to this conclusion: as a mother, I don’t
think I will ever let go. I don’t know that any of us should officially ‘let go’ of our sweet little ones (even if
they’re in their thirties now!). I think, as adult babies, we will always need
to be loved, cuddled, and comforted by our mothers.
Unfortunately, there are some barriers (see aforementioned
‘unhealthy situations’) to this philosophy… BUT I suggest we mums look at it in
a different way: How about we trust? We say ‘let go’ by trusting that someone
greater is watching over our babies (even the adult babies!). We trust that
somewhere, deep down, our babies will always
know and feel our love. They might not be aware that it’s there, and they might
not ever want to acknowledge it, but a mother’s love never disappears. This, I
know. We are all imperfect beings, all of us mothers doing the best we can,
wherever we are, but it is always with love.
Sitting in my car, listening to the rain, watching the
waves, I relax and enjoy my time alone, trusting that my son certainly knows
how much his mama loves him.
Then I think of my mom, on the other side of the world. And I
get tearful when I think of her love. I get so emotional about it that I can’t
even put it into words. Her love goes beyond any realm of understanding.
And I’m sure your mother’s love does, too.
