Children

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I wonder what kind of mother I would be if our first son had been full-term? Our story is mild compared to many. We were only in the NICU for 8 days, and medical intervention was moderate. It was life-altering, however, to watch our baby’s feet blackened from needle sticks, to see an IV in his scalp and, worse, to be unable to hold him while he was inches away. During that time, I only missed one of our son’s procedures. My husband stayed, but I chickened out as it sounded too awful. I have never forgotten that…..that I bailed when our son could not.
Finally home from the NICU, I thought the horror show was over….until we got a call for follow-up testing that landed us in a room crammed with machines and people dressed in full surgical garb. I was assigned to soothe our son as I held his flailing arms. I have never done anything as hard as listen to that baby scream. Wait, I have done something harder….listen to his screams dwindle into defeated, hopeless cries. Sobbing out broken, incoherent songs to him, I told myself that at least I was there. In that instant, my mothering took shape.
Our youngest son loved the story, “The Tub People’s Christmas”. In it, the Tub Toys organize themselves and one Toy yells, “Standing guard?” and the others reply, “Standing guard!” When it comes to our kids, this is me. If hurt is suspected, I must be present. At home, I leap into any perceived conflict, our children announcing, “Here she comes!”
I know there are mothers who defend their children well…. kicking butt when necessary. I am not one of them; I wish I was. But if our children are suffering, I believe my presence to be a talisman, a superhero blanket that will muffle any pain. It’s funny. As I write this, I am realizing for the first time how deeply I believed that my love would be sufficient. Well, it isn’t.
I have given our children positives, like goodbyes and gratitude. But, I have neglected other areas. While our children report that I discussed feelings ad nauseum, I didn’t cope with emotion openly. To shield them from my anxiety and unkindness, I kept secret my war with forgiveness, with unrequited anger and with the heavy mantle of human connection. In my nakedness, I hid. A testimony in Life’s Healing Choices by John Baker speaks to me, “If I perform flawlessly, I can control the outcome.” In a quest for perfection, I forgot to just be their mom. And, that absence has become palpable.
My work kids used to say, “How does it feel to want?” I have written about how I hated that expression. It seemed a cruel taunt for a weary population. But, I am learning to view it differently, as something essential and raw, “How does it feel to want? to grieve? to be lonely?” Intent on distracting our children with my love, I somehow made their journey about me. And, in so doing, I failed to impart the lovely wholeness of embracing their wounds alongside their advantage. Do I really want our children to believe that they are only okay with me? Or, equally crippling, the reverse?
I heard of a man who feared rejection. He wanted quick results so his therapist had him stand at the end of an escalator in a high traffic area. He was to invite each passing woman for coffee, all day long. Agonizing at first, this man spent enough time with rejection that it lost its’ hold over him. His shackles fell away.
A friend tells me that children, merely because of their short histories, cannot fathom “recovered joy”..... a joy rooted only in hurt’s after-math. I wish I had known that sooner…..not so I could abandon our children in their trial, but so I could anchor them in it. So I could help them claim their fortress …..a fortress that bends to light and declines evil, a fortress secure in God’s power and a child’s courage. A fortress that stands with or without me.

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