Just as I began to brainstorm about what to do for my mother for Mother’s Day, my son arrived home from college for the summer. He started talking about a statewide conference he’s coordinating for his fraternal group.
My thoughts quickly changed to: When did that happen?!
When did I stop being the coordinator, the social butterfly, the pull-things-together mastermind of special events? And when did he assume such a role?
When did he become a man, such that groups of people, across the entire state of Pennsylvania, would entrust such a massive undertaking to him?
I don’t remember teaching him those skills.
When, where, how did this happen?
Just yesterday he was reaching up to grasp my hand lest he fall. Now he looks down to make eye contact with me.
I began to think of other moments in our history together when he has achieved milestones.
All of those moments brought tears of joy, so happy was I to see him achieving those goals and finding pride in himself.
But, yes, I confess that later, when he wasn’t around, those tears of joy became…well….just tears.
But they’re not tears of sadness. They’re more like tears of poignancy, like the tears we all shed when watching The Lion King, for example, when the music to “The Circle of Life” swells and the little cub lion is held high, up atop that mountain for all the other creatures to see. It’s just a movie, just a cartoon in fact, but no parent escapes that scene without a lump in the throat. (If you want to relive it: http://bit.ly/9suMsX)
I think it’s also because we know, deep in our hearts, that so many of life’s milestones are doors opening for our children…but closing for us.
When I spin through the lifecycle moments my mother and I have shared, I realize that nearly all of them were new beginnings for me, and something much more perplexing and bittersweet for her.
When I left for college years ago, I exited the door into a new life, even as my mother watched a door of her own close.
My marriage opened a new chapter for me, and closed one for my mother as she watched her daughter take on the role of wife also.
Years later, the birth of my son inched her still further from her own parenting years.
So, now I know what to do for my mother. And you can too: This Mother’s Day, and next month when Father’s Day rolls around, I encourage you to go beyond the usual (card, flowers, dinner) and give them the greatest gift imaginable — the gift of turning to them and seeking their advice.
On anything.
Just one more time.
It will make them feel as though you still need them.
It will remind them that they still have value and something to offer.
It will take them back a chapter or two; back to a time when they enjoyed the role of parent most.
I can’t imagine a better Mother’s Day gift.
And how do I know this? Because my wonderful son does it for me all the time. (Thanks, Matt!)
(And, Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! I love you!)
Historical intrigue interwoven with modern-day suspense and a touch of the mysterious.
Contemporary romantic suspense.
Coming-of-age sagas.
You have raised a wonderful, loving Son – feel proud of him and yourself. Live if what we make it and there is so much happiness if we just look for it and reject the negatives in life.