My son, who is in the US Army, has many good friends. Most are boys who grew up inside the LDS church, who have found other ways to identify in these past few years. They come from good homes and have good parents who love them. They have been part of my family’s life since they were born. I don’t remember a time that I didn’t claim them as my own, in some way.
This past weekend, we had a few of them over for Sunday dinner. There is little in this world that makes my Mama heart more joyous than to see my kids, a cousin or two, these boys, their girls, and then, now, a baby, in the mix, all piled on the two couches, being ridiculous together. I love them all.
Their mix of inappropriate movies and video-sharing, making healthy fun of each other, laughter, and consumption of food makes my Mama heart full to overflowing.
Yes, they are loud. They are obnoxious. When they come shoot their guns in the back acre, I stay away and just make there is plenty of sausage gravy, biscuits, and juice when they come in. I let them have their fun. My fun is just having them all together. My fun is seeing my daughters playing with all of their extra older brothers. Having that dynamic in my home makes me miss my own son less.
Each time they are here, they call my son and we all have a laugh together. Sometimes, they will Facetime with him and his girlfriend while they are here. The phone will just sit, on end, on the table and everyone will just be busy, eating, talking, laughing, and they will pipe in the other side of the phone as well, just like they are present amongst the chaos.
This is as good as it gets for right now.
But, the price is high at times. And yesterday morning was one of those times. It was a peaceful Monday, sun shining, and the perfect temperature. The birds were ecstatic in the sugar maple outside the window as I did my homework and organized my week. All seemed to be well in the world for the moment.
And then she texted. A wife of one of my boy’s friends texted and asked if I was home, that she needed me, that she and her baby were on their way over, if I could spare the time.
There is no other way to deal with this except put the homework away and pray she drives safely. I began to think about what had happened, how I could help and accommodate what needed to happen. Yes, her husband was young and didn’t have a good handle on his temper. They had been through a lot already. They both have therapists. They go together as well. But…we all know that’s not enough at times.
She arrived and she fell apart, crying. Baby was silent in his seat, just sleeping. I got her into the house, taking the baby in, as well as the necessary diaper bag.
The details of the interaction aren’t so important. But, what is important is this: At the end of the day, her things were gathered, she was safe, the baby was safe, and my “adopted” son was safe as well.
We went and got her things. The sweet, yet powerful man I am with, accompanied and had a long walk/talk with my boy. No threats, just stories and encouragement. “We’ve got this”, my sweet man always says.
I felt like a puddle at the end of the night. To see them all hurting is always too much for me. But, it’s the right thing to do, to be present with them, express my love for them, open my home, and offer everything I have become. It’s the only way.
At about 11:30 pm, I got a call from my oldest daughter, who is away on her Spring Break. She had heard a little about the day and was worried. She said something that I needed to hear, even if it did make the puddle I was already, bigger.
She said to me, “You know, Mama, you always do it right. You love them and never judge them and they know they are safe. She knew she could call you. He (the husband) knew you would take care of her, and love him, too. This is what you are really good at. You’ve always been that for all of them.”
That is not to say I did it all “right” with my own kids. I fuck it up everyday with them. But, I think what my daughter was trying to tell me, was that I tried hard, and that my pain has informed my actions.
The mother that I have is wonderful, but incredibly judgemental at times. I felt like love was conditional, and needed to be earned. I knew I was loved, but didn’t feel it. And I was the “perfect daughter”. Everyone said so. But, still, my pain of not being shown love in the way I needed, lives inside me, to this day. I needed to be enough. Enough. No matter if I reached the standard of perfection set before me on a daily basis.
It broke me at a young age. I began to have only a few needs, no expectations for other people, and gave up my hopes and dreams…all because I didn’t feel like they mattered. What mattered was everyone else’s happiness…my mom’s, my then-husbands. It was irrelevant. Everyone else but me.
Now, life is different. My level of love is fed by the trust I receive from these adopted kids of mine, among other things. They bring light into my life, even when we have to process the hurts, together. This is a safer way to love and be loved for me…and for them. We are all learning.
Yes, it was a long day. But, we are all safe. We have what we need. I am loved. I am needed. I am valued. I get to hold and hug them, but I also am held as well. That is how the story has shifted. I need that for my own cup to be refilled.
It might be as good as it gets, for today.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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You may also like these posts on The Good Men Project:
 White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism |
 Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box |
 The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer |
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Photo credit: Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash
