I have decided to focus on what is working in my life.
I have been emerging; slowly and with fits and starts, from a very difficult period. I look over my shoulder and see deep valleys and think “I was there?� And though I still fear, at times, that a landslide will return me to the nadir, I am determined to continue climbing up, with all my might and strength.
Zachary is 9 years old and a full-fledged fourth grader. I am amazed at his independence and his strength of character. His hairy shins remind he will never be “my baby� again. Technology of almost any sort is the center of his universe now and his Star Wars obsession persists. In art camp this summer he completed two paintings on canvas. The first was of an X-Wing and the other a Tie Fighter.
We have discussed distant stars and galaxies as astronomy has newly caught his wonder and I marvel at how ideas awaken within him for the first time and fill him with excitement and awe. I explained to him what is meant by light years and he responded with genuine enthusiasm. “Mom, that is amazing� and for the first time in quite some time I realized that it really was.
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Zachary bought me roses recently and though my youngest son Sam chanted “flowers, flowers� as if to imply he was in on the purchase, Zach took me aside and said “it was all my idea�. Zachary stood in front of me proudly displaying a half dozen long-stemmed red roses and I realized in that moment how far I have come. Ironically, the flowers came on a day when I truly needed them and I accepted them with great and genuine enthusiasm and gratitude.
I stood in the kitchen cutting the stems and placing them in water when I noticed in a detached way that I was crying. I wasn’t sobbing or weeping but tears escaped as I prepared the flowers for the vase. Parenthood has been a strange journey for me. In my mind I often experience myself as the 24 year old I was so very long ago. Then moments hit me that remind me that the 24 year old me exists only in a place in history and she is not the me of today. As I placed the flowers in the vase, I remembered other flowers, other vases, and other gift givers. I looked over at Zach who was smiling proudly watching me arrange the flowers as artistically as I could.
“I love you Zach. Thank you so much. This was a wonderful gift.�
“You’re welcome mom. I love you too. By the way, you are beautiful.�
With that last declaration he ran away, perhaps of embarrassment. And I found my tears again. Though now they were flowing as I smiled. Unlike other flowers and declarations of love, I could fully accept these gifts from Zach. Life is made up of moments and this moment, I determined, was a keeper. Later we would argue about dinner, bath, and bedtime but none of that would negate the flowers and the sentiments we so freely shared with each other.
I am learning a lot about love from my nine year old son. He is in front of me much of the time but I often don’t see him entirely. I live inside myself a lot. Too much. And my tendency has always been to focus on what I perceive to be my flaws. My flaws are real as I am terminally human but I am realizing as I focus on them, they grow. Like sun on a garden, my attention to my failings empower them, make them stronger, and define who I am. I am left with a perception of myself that I do not like but which I ultimately created.
“You can change that, you know�. My friend of many years knows me well and can sum up what I am trying to say in a line or two. “Just start watering another part of the garden. You are the one with the watering can. You are in charge. Create the future you want and don’t base it on your past. I like you better now anyway.�
So I am working on being grateful because I see now I have opportunities that I denied myself in the past. There are possibilities that I never would have thought existed. And my decision to allow myself to embrace a different future has left me as exhilarated as the notion of light-years. And besides, my nine year old son brings me roses, tells me he loves me, and thinks I am beautiful.
Regina Walker is a writer and psychotherapist living in NYC. Her work has appeared in numerous publications including Hip Mama, widdershins, Moondance, and Literary Vision. She can be reached at cswcasac@aol.com