Look at him.
He got the best genes from me and his father. He was very fortunate. He got the strong nose (both parents), the small ears (his dad), the huge teeth (me), the wide forehead (DUH, me), and the SMILE from hear to ear (me). And the height to end all height-mostly me. Hell, it’s my blog. I could claim all credit and say he was born of osmosis reproduction with the moon and my fertile womb. But no, his dad and I were together for almost 26 years. Our children were both planned and pined for. We wanted them both, and were delighted that they were coming.
We regret nothing. Well maybe a little. Maybe those years we forgot to appreciate each other we regret a bit. Maybe those years we weren’t kind we might think twice about. But…life is a series of lessons. Some are beautiful, some sting.
It’s bizarre having adult children, but one of the best blessings ever. I adore having real conversations with them about music, politics, literature, religion/spirituality, food, pet ownership, bills, savings accounts. We have goal conversations, talk about plans, destinations unknown, thoughts.
It is good to see your children grow. They grow up and you see things in them that are very obviously part of the values and opinions and training and thoughts that you shared as they grew.
There are things you shared that you wish you hadn’t, and things you didn’t share that you wish you had.
But none of it is important anymore, because seeing them be their adult selves with their own lives and loves is so beautiful, nothing eclipses that. You realize you have fucking arrived. You raised your kids. They are adults. They need help now and then, but they are here, the tables turned, things are equalizing. God help me for the time when the tables turn and they need to put me in a nursing home that hopefully I’ve saved for, and the time when they have to say to the doctors, “no more life support.” I hate that they have to do that. I can see why people choose to exit gracefully before that time happens. Blessings to Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade.
No I’m not suicidal. But I appreciate their experience. I’m not sad about it in the way many are. I get it, from the depressed point of view.
So today? Today I’m feeling lucky and fortunate. I gave birth to and raised some people that know deep sadness and depression, but know some deep joys as well. They appreciate the good stuff. They are “snobs,” but not bad ones. They get this equally from both parents. Me and their dad were raised in redneck towns by city parents, and we raised them to expand their horizons always. They know good literature, they know good movies, they appreciate high quality dialogue, and they are whip smart. They know that it’s important to think of others as much as you can, and to always recognize your privilege. From both parents-they get this in spades.
They just appreciate quality and would go to the thrift store before the mall. They appreciate a dollar, and know how hard it was worked for. Neither asks a parent for money or a handout or help unless they really need it, and they hustle like crazy before that day comes. They would rather go without than ask. And they know they will never be told no, but they are too proud to ask unless they have nothing to do but ask.
What beautiful people I get to share living with. What beautiful people I have raised.
For this, and all the blessings, I am grateful for being their mother.