Letter from a Mother to her Daughter

Had to share:

Letter from a Mother to a Daughter:

“My dear girl, the day you see I’m getting …old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I’m going through. If when we talk, I repeat the same thing a thousand times, don’t interrupt to say: “You said the same thing a minute ago”… Just listen, please. Try to remember the times when you were little and I would read the same story night after night until you would fall asleep. When I don’t want to take a bath, don’t be mad and don’t embarrass me. Remember when I had to run after you making excuses and trying to get you to take a shower when you were just a girl? When you see how ignorant I am when it comes to new technology, give me the time to learn and don’t look at me that way… remember, honey, I patiently taught you how to do many things like eating appropriately, getting dressed, combing your hair and dealing with life’s issues every day… the day you see I’m getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I’m going through. If I occasionally lose track of what we’re talking about, give me the time to remember, and if I can’t, don’t be nervous, impatient or arrogant. Just know in your heart that the most important thing for me is to be with you. And when my old, tired legs don’t let me move as quickly as before, give me your hand the same way that I offered mine to you when you first walked. When those days come, don’t feel sad… just be with me, and understand me while I get to the end of my life with love. I’ll cherish and thank you for the gift of time and joy we shared. With a big smile and the huge love I’ve always had for you, I just want to say, I love you… my darling daughter. “

I saw this on another website, and I cried my heart out just looking at the photo.  My Mom has been gone now for 3 weeks.  It might as well have been for 3 seconds. I’d give anything to have her with me, to go shopping and do lunch, to be able to bring her yellow roses and see her get excited as she smells each and every blossom.

Love your Moms.  YOU are the best thing she ever did in her life.  She’s never doubted that for a minute.

Empty Nest

Tonight is the last night a child of mine will sleep under my roof as a resident.

It hit me this morning as I was driving to visit my parents.  This is going to be a major change.  I have had the very viable threat of a child bursting into my room in the middle of the night now for 24 years of my life, so that would make it be since I was about 9 years old (haha).  There will be no more late night runs to swing on the swings at the playground.  No more 1am talks after being awakened by a crying daughter.  No more Housewives of the OC or Beverly Hills or New Jersey marathons over pints of Ben and Jerry’s frozen yogurt. 

I went through this with my son already.  It took me a while to stop tearing up every time  I caught a whiff of something that smelled like him, even the bad smells lol.  Oh wait, those always made me tear up.   Now I get to do it all over again, and this time there is no runner-up waiting in the wings to take over the job of allowing me to mother them.  I know I will cry more than once, and I know I will worry.  I know my dog Vince will allow me to baby him because he is the neediest, clingiest dog I ever met, and I know Rick will hug me when I need hugging.  I’m lucky I have that.  I could be going this alone.

Job Titles

Hello sweet faces. I’m back.  Somewhat censored, but back.  Ah the trials and tribulations a writer must endure to be free to express himself, or herself in my case.

As some of you know, I am no longer writing about my mother, my father, my sisters, their kids or my mom’s illness.  If you know the story, great. If you don’t, you never will.

On with the show!

February is a big month for me.  What a difference a year makes, and this month I will experience a loss and a gain.

EMPTY NESTER.  This will be my new title.  Since the age of 21, I have lived with a child under my roof.  When Brian moved out, I cried for two weeks.  His room still smelled like him.  The leftovers began to pile up.  I didn’t know how to cook for one kid less.  I kept waiting to hear his truck pull up and it didn’t.  I would watch TV shows and miss hearing his maniacal laugh.  It was torture, but I got through it and I had Kaitlin to help ease me into it.

Now it’s her turn.  Kaitlin will be moving out this month.  No more girl TV nights. No more frozen yogurt runs at 8pm.  No more.  It’s time, and while I am so happy that she is making this step away from me, I will be sad to see her go. But it’s time.

“”Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of life’s longing for itself. They come through you, but not from you.
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may house their bodies, but not souls.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The Archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness; for even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.” -Kahlil Gibran

WORLDS GREATEST GIRLFRIEND.  This will be my other new title.  Rick is coming to live with me.  I couldn’t be happier about it.  I’m so excited to create a home and a life together.  Coming home to the smile that melts my heart.  Making his coffee in the morning.  Being able to share our days in person, and not having to miss him immensely, like I do now when we are apart.  I miss his laugh, and I miss his smell, and he is home to me.  It’s time.

“I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. “ Pablo Neruda I know no other way.  To love my child enough to let her go.  To love my man enough to want him to stay.  Jobs I HIGHLY recommend. ~

My Green Thumb

Hello, fellow organic gardeners!! 

I am using the gardening analogy because I view being in a relationship somewhat like planting a garden.  A garden needs attention in order to be vital, fertile and successful.  It must be fed and it must be watered.  Sunshine is a must.  A garden can’t thrive in darkness. 

For the first time, I am in a garden with someone who wants it to grow as much as I do.  Our “situation”, if you can even call it that, is that we both want so much to put the other one first that we sometimes get frustrated in trying to do just that.  I want Rick to feel important, loved and cared for.  He wants me to feel the same.  Tough problem to have, right? lol  I know, I sound a little stupid but seriously……this is new for me.

There are times when I worry that Rick will feel I expect him to do what is just natural for him to do.  I never want to take the gift of him for granted, ever.  It’s always in the back of my mind.  Perhaps its because I know what it feels like to feel optional.  That it’s an expectation, rather than an act of kindness, to do for someone.  That somehow our needs are never as important as everyone elses.  I know that feeling.  He knows that feeling.  Now, we are in a garden where all of our needs are being met; emotionally, physically, spiritually….and it’s phenomenal.

To share from a fellow blogger Holley Gerth, whom I cherish-

You are loved.  More than you know.  More than you see.  More than you’ve even dared to dream.  We can stop doubting.  We can be secure in Love.

And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. I John 4:16

Time to get back to my garden.  It’s BEAUTIFUL, and it’s growing like crazy.

Out with the Old…..

2012 has arrived.

Rick and I visited my parents on the last day of 2011.  My mother was in bed when we arrived and my father assigned me the job of getting her out of it, getting her meds in her and getting her to eat. 

I walked into her room and my mother was laying on her back in bed, with her legs hanging over the side.  My mother NEVER lays on her back.  Stricken with polio as a kid, her crooked spine never allowed for her to comfortably lay any way other than on her right side, knees bent.  I tried to help her roll but she screamed in pain.  Finally with my Dad’s help, we were able to roll her and I could lift her to a sitting position on my own.  She cried and cried. 

My mother probably weighs about 90 pounds now.  She screams in pain at the slightest touch to her arm or her leg, and bruises easily.   It may not be pain at all, but the fear of being touched and the unknown.  With Alzheimers, you never know for sure.  She looks at things but looks through people.  Yes often means no.  No often means yes. 

In the past couple of months, my mother has gone from hugging me back when I hug her to standing there allowing me to put my arms around her, if I warn her first.  She now wears diapers.  She tries to chew her pills instead of swallow them, IF they all make it into her mouth.  I am “honey” one minute, I am a “son of a bitch” the next.  Her hours-long conversation with herself consists of “Come on” repeated over and over, in an agitated, frustrated state.  Some days, she sits almost comatose, oblivious of my existence.  Others, some angel grants me an “I love you” before she leaves me again. 

Out with the old, in with the new.  I can appreciate that.  I have new things in my life that I welcome, gratefully, gladly, lovingly.

I don’t feel in my heart my Mother will live to see her birthday in February.  Forgive me if I don’t quite feel like singing today.

The Invisible Mother

It doesn’t matter how young or how old children are, you never stop being a Mom.  I am sharing a small story with you that means the world to me.

I recently met a mother who adopted twin sons at the young age of 23.  What an undertaking, and what a selfless gift of love to give when many young women are still finding their way.  I owe her a personal debt of gratitude and she has my love, admiration and respect.  This is dedicated to Caroline Rachel Franklin.

Invisible Mother……

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and ask to be taken to the store.
Inside I’m thinking, ‘Can’t you see I’m on the phone?’

Obviously, not.

No one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I’m invisible.  The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this?  Can you tie this?  Can you open this?

Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being.  I’m a clock to ask, ‘What time is it?’  I’m a satellite guide to answer, ‘What number is the Disney Channel?’  I’m a car to order, ‘Right around 5:30, please.’

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude – but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She’s going; she’s going; she is gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England … Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in.  I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well.  It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself.  I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, ‘I brought you this.’  It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe   I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d given it to me until I read her inscription:

‘To  Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.’

In the days ahead I would read – no, devour – the book.  And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:

No one can say who built the great cathedrals – we have no record of their names.

These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.

They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.

The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam.  He was puzzled and asked the man, ‘Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof?   No one will ever see it.’  And the workman replied, ‘Because God sees.’

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.

It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, ‘I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn on, no cupcake you’ve baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what it will become.’
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction.  But it is not a disease that is erasing my life.  It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness.  It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder.  As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.

The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don’t want my son to tell the friend he’s bringing home from college forThanksgiving, ‘My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.’  That would mean I’d built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home.  And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, ‘you’re gonna love it there.’

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right.  And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

My Blonde Teenage Daughter

Back in the day, I used to write little blogs about my blonde teenage daughter Kaitlin (aka Kate, Katie).   Things would just happen, and she would inspire me to write down her little tidbits of wonder.  I decided to revisit some of the more cherished moments, here now condensed into one post for your reading enjoyment.

Telling me about a grade she received in Public Speaking:

“Mom, it is so cool…I got a really good grade on my discussion!!”  “What did you get?” I ask. “I got a B-, but it’s the same as an A.”

***

Reading something I asked her to read:

“There are too many big words, geez!  I mean I know them….I just don’t want to have to read them.”

***

Kate and I are walking down the street to go pick up my car.  I had met her outside of her school and we are talking.

“Oh hey, Mom….do you want to know the title I decided on for my science fair project?” she asks.

“Sure, what is it?”

“Cleaner skin……..”……

Kate looks up at the sky, thinking…..then slowly looks down, turning her hand over at the same time.

“….helps you win.”    “Cleaner skin helps you win”.

She had written the title on her hand.  All five words.  Five words.  She could only remember two of them…..without looking at her hand.

****

Standing in line at Home Depot…

Katie and her friend Katherine are with me.I take out my ATM Debit card to get ready to pay once the line moves up.  Katherine says, “Can you pay with a card in this line?”Oh no, did I get in a cash only line? I look up and above the checkout, a  big sign says ‘CASH REGISTER HERE’.

Good Lord.

***

I am sitting in Rite Aid, waiting for an Rx to be filled.  Teenager Katie is sitting in the chair that has the black massager attached to it.  It’s a demo model.

She has been gone for the past two days at a friend’s house.  She has that “sleepover without much sleep” appearance.

She turns her head towards me in a “Chucky” doll-like manner and says, “I had a burrito for breakfast”.

I stare blankly back at her, wondering where she pulled that thought from.  She elaborates further, still in a daze, eyes widely staring at me.

“The bean and cheese burritos in the freezer don’t have any cheese in them.”  She says this very soft-spoken and deliberate.  She turns back around slowly.

The kid scares me sometimes.

Katie begins to tell me about playing video games with her friends last night.

“It was fun.  I played then Katherine played then her brother played and then I played and then Katherine played and then her brother played and then I played and then well…..it was like we were going in a circle!”

I stare blankly at her.  Where is that prescription!!!????

***

This is the scene……Mom (me) sitting in chair…..Daughter and her friend on the sofa……girls eating and watching TV.

Mom – “Kate, go upstairs and closed the windows please”

Daughter – “I will in a minute”

Mom begins to count…..”1,2,3,4,5……” – with every intention of counting the full 60 seconds.

Daughter looks at the clock….it is 2:59pm.

Daughter ‘ “Gosh Mom, why don’t you just tell me when it’s 2:60?”

Mom stares blankly at daughter…..waiting for her friend to tell her there is no 2:60pm……..

***

“The front yard was full of bees so I couldn’t make it to the front door to come in the house and wash them.  I was afraid I would get stung.  We couldn’t even eat…..the lady down the street had to feed us.”

This was the excuse given by my 13-year-old daughter as to why her dirty dishes were left out one afternoon during spring break while she was down the street hanging out with friends.

***

Katie was home sick yesterday.  I am at work.  My work line rings….

“This is Diana.  I can help you”

“Mom?”  (who else would it be)….

“Yeah Kate”, I say.

“I am watching this make-over show?”

“Yeah?” I say.

“Well, they already cut this girls hair, and she is still ugly.  I don’t know how in the world they are going to make her NOT be ugly.”

I love that kid.

Entry in my daughter’s journal….

“Someone in class today called me stupendous.  I didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded like they were saying I was stupid so I just pretended not to hear

 

***

 

Kate: <staring at the news this morning but not watching it, or listening to it…just staring at it>

 

Me: Isn’t that awful?

 

Kate:  What?

 

Me: What happened in London.

 

Kate: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

 

Me: You were just watching it on the news.

 

Kate: I wasn’t watching anything <still staring at the screen….granted, she had just awakened 5 minutes earlier>

 

Me: Lovely, Kate

 

Kate: No really, what happened?

 

Me: Terrorists struck again. Like 911, but not as huge.  They bombed the subways in London.

 

Kate:  They bombed Subways?  Oh my gosh, that’s horrible…they make great sandwiches.

 

 

Ah that was fun.   Memories.