Always a Mother

With 51,399 steps recorded this week, I have totaled 713,871 steps since Memorial Day. I still have two weeks to go to meet my goal of 760,000 by Labor Day, but at this point it looks like I’ll breeze through with no problem. 

Can I do a million steps, do you think, during the same timeframe next year? Let’s see, I would have to average 10,204 steps a day to make that happen…nothing like a stretch goal, huh? Well, I guess I have a little time to decide!

My focus has been less on my steps this week and more on the steps of my son, Jason. 

A mother never stops being a mother. Though death separated my own mom from me, I don’t think even that chasm takes her hand from my shoulder. If you know of scripture that disputes this claim, please point it out to me so I can stop talking about it. But I have to tell you, it won’t stop me thinking it. It won’t stop me feeling it.

And so it is with my own children. We are together even when miles separate us. Our spirits connect in a way that I have no words to describe. If love were a river, we would never quite swim to its bottom – always reaching, always grasping, but never quite touching the stones.

My favorite dreams are the ones where Jason is little again. They are so real that I can smell him. I can feel the softness of his cheek on my fingertips as I wipe the dirty smudges away. I cradle his smile in my palms and bask in the light of his eyes. He is once again unfettered by life’s troubles, and his oh-so-familiar question tantalizes my senses: “Hi, Mom. Uh-do-day?” (For those who need a translation: “Hi, Mom. What are we going to do today?”)

·       Jason was the boy who always wore a cape. If you asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, he would have told you, “Um, an army guy…or Peter Pan.”

·       He loved making friends better than breathing, and it came so naturally to him. I think this was his favorite part of t-ball or football or any of the other sports he ever participated in. He loved being a part of the team – loved the camaraderie.

·       He used to talk about the dog he would have one day: “Mom, when I grow up, I’m gonna have a bull-dog. And I’m gonna name him Spike. And he’s gonna have a collar what has spikes on it.”

·       Jason wanted to know what was for breakfast before his ever feet hit the floor in the morning. In fact, no matter what he was doing, if you asked him what he was doing, he would say, “I-oh-know…eadin’.” He never ate huge meals, but he loved ‘grazing.’ All day. Every day. And into the night.

When I wake up, my son is grown. And no matter how much I want to cling to the dream, it begins to fade, obscured by the reality of the present, until I see it no more.

• Jason is now the victim of divorce, though he never uses it as a crutch.
• He has now been in want but has been too proud or too humble or too something to ask for help.
• He has experienced heartache. He walks with the reality that he cannot change the past but that he can learn from it.

I thought I had the whole letting go thing behind me with Jason. He has, after all, been on his own since he was 19, and he’s now 22. I never really worried about Jason – always felt like he would land on his feet. Even when he came to me a few months ago and said, “Hey, Mom, what would you think about my moving out to Arizona?”

I said, “Sure. If there’s ever a time for you to experience it, it’s now, before the wife and kids, before the mortgage, before the big career. Go for it.”

And then the day came for him to leave.

The tears and the heart-wrenching took me by complete surprise.

“Mom, I’ll be back,” he said, as his own tears filmed over…tears, no…must have just had something in his eye. 

“I know you’ll be back. But you’ll be different. You’ll have grown.”

And isn’t that the point?

Our children will grow. They’ll regret some things and celebrate others. They’ll live with memories that will be untouched, unseen, by us.

If not, have we really done our jobs as parents?

Our goal is not to shield our children from trouble but to give them the tools to recognize it and then to resolve it. It is no great blessing to be there for our children at every turn – the gift is in knowing that they can take the turns on their own and live to tell about it.

I will always be a mother. But though the name never changes, the role, the job description, is in a constant state of flux.

Enjoy your day. Enjoy this blog.