Another Mile in Mother's Shoes

I remember being told many years ago that "until you're a mother, you simply can't understand". For my money, truer words were never spoken. The love between a mother and her child - that absolute earth shattering connection that begins at conception and intensifies 1000 fold when first she gazes into her baby's eyes - is beyond comprehension until you're there.

There are likely several million blog entries about the love between a mother and child. This entry is about other fascinating and, at times, devastating aspects of that love.

Surely I'm not the only woman whose new baby love caused her to consider, perhaps for the first time, the experience of her mother when she held her own brand new infant. The personal experience of "motherhood" invites that perspective. Until I had my own precious child, there was no way I could understand the gut wrenching ache of leaving my darling in day care so I could go to work. My own mother worked all her life. I had no idea how hard it was for her to leave me five days a week.

Fast forward ... high school graduation. I received my diploma and I was free! Free to move away, out into the world, free to become. Now I know my mother likely cried herself to sleep that night and for days or weeks afterward, just like I did when I dropped my "baby girl" off at college.

Fast forward again, through years of astonishing moments to my daughter's wedding day. It was the most beautiful day of my life. I knew the pride that only a parent can feel. I shared my daughter's dreams for "happily ever after" and I suddenly knew what an incredible day my wedding was for my own mother; how her heart swelled with hopes and dreams for me, even though she couldn't be present for the ceremony.

Now I am watching my daughter's divorce. It tears my heart out to know how my mother hurt as she witnessed my divorce. I was so overwhelmed by my sorrow, I had no idea of her devastation. It's worse, much worse than the departure of my own husband all those years ago. Mrs. to Ms. is hell - whether it's for the best or not - whether it's your idea or not. And I can't help but ache for the long nights my mother spent worrying about me, wishing she could kiss it away like when I was small but knowing there was nothing she could do.

"Thank you, Mom" for the tears I now know you cried, the fears you held inside, and the many, many prayers you said on my behalf when you were helpless to take away my hurt and my fear. I made it. Not always gracefully, but I made it. And now I am using your model to help me hold my tongue, to show up with hot soup on her doorstep, to leave her loving text messages out of the blue. She'll make it too, but how I wish I could take it all away with a kiss, a rocking chair and a children's story about princesses and unicorns.

I can't help but yearn for the joy of seeing my daughter truly happy again. I want to look in the mirror and see the look that was in my mother's eyes when, after years of healing and growing and single parenthood, my own true love came along. Mom adored Brent for his gentle spirit, his strength, his courage and, most of all, his devotion to me. She died knowing I was cherished. I can only hope to die so Blessed.