Friday, June 25, 2010


The pool is full of children, adults perched on the side, sitting in chairs. Everyone is laughing and enjoying their friday night. My daughter is throwing herself off the side with abandon, opening her mouth wide to laugh.

I am nursing Sam. I look down into his big brown eyes, I stroke his hair. Across the pool a woman I have met only a few times crouches near the stair and calls to somebody out of my eyeline. As I watch, her mother brings her a towel, wrapping her in it and rubbing her arms. She then pushes her hair off of her face. They both smile. The tenderness can only be between a mother and her child- even is said child is in her 30's with children of her own.

And it punches me in the gut.

Why did I get left behind in this, God? Why did you choose to hobble me? Why is my mother not here to bring me a towel, to play with my children?

Yes, I know there is a reason. I was chosen for this life. God knows why...and most of the time that is enough. Most of the time my heart is guarded, and I can look away from a scene like that before it gets to me.

But sometimes it hurts. And sometimes it has to hurt, or I wouldn't be human. And tonight, it hurts.

Yes, I know. I have 2 great kids. I have a good life. I have great friends.

But sometimes it just doesn't matter.

I want my mother. Not who she was, but the idea of who she could have been. I want her here, healthy. I want my kids to see her and to love her. I want, I want, I want.

I know this was chosen for me. Maybe I needed to live through my childhood to be a good mother to my kids. Maybe it created in me some essential quality that will help my children be better people. Maybe it was essential to make me who I am. Great suffering creates great character. But sometimes, I want to wish it all away. I want to change it all. Sometimes I wish it could all be different.

I wish somebody would wrap me up, look at me, and stroke my hair. I wish to be mothered. It's not something I have ever known. I still mourn for it.

But here it is. I am 33. My time to be mothered is over. My time to be a mother is here. And I love my kids. And I want so much to be whole for them. I am not. I will always be hobbled and wounded, and I will always want beyond what I have.

But I keep trying. I keep moving forward. Even now, in the moments when the pain overflows my ability to keep it at bay.

So here's to tomorrow...when I will wake up. I will take my children to the bathtub. We will play. And when I lift them out I will wrap them up. I will look into their eyes. And I will show them the love I am wishing for tonight.