Successes and Shortcomings

D graduates in three weeks. Three. I knew it would go fast, but I didn't imagine getting to three short weeks. During the last three years, I wasn't sure we would make it to this point. But here we are.

Of course this is a time of reflection. A time to think about what we've been through, how beautiful she is, how she frustrates and surprises me in the same half hour, and what kind of parent I've been. I have failed a lot. In little ways, in big ways. I can't help but feel regret for those moments. Knowing there were plenty of times I could do better. So much advice I would give to my 27-year-old self and my 35-year-old self.

I knew as a parent of a baby to appreciate every moment. I would hold her for hours, not putting her down for naps, but rocking with her. Memorizing the feel of her baby skin and how her small body weighed on me and how long she was as she grew. I inhaled every bit of baby scent I could get. As she grew, I talked to her constantly. I taught her "sign language" before she could use words. I encouraged her sentences and relished in her tiny accomplishments. Babies are so easy that way. So eager to please and to smile and to laugh. D was no exception and she was just, overall, an easy baby. An angel at two with no tantrums. I couldn't have been any luckier.

By second grade I was tired. I have never enjoyed school assemblies or concerts or any other event that required parent participation. Mostly because I don't want to suffer through 60 other people's kids to see mine do something for 45 seconds. She did ballet so I drove back and forth to practice multiple times a week. I was trying to hold together a relationship that was always destined for failure. D had her own likes, dislikes, and agendas. They didn't always mesh with mine and I lost my focus. I was more concerned with grades and behavior than with who she was and who she would become. Mostly, I stopped having fun with her.

My biggest regret is that I didn't have more fun with her. I forgot to remember to treasure the little moments. I never forgot that I loved her and would do anything for her, but there are very few occasions in which one actually has to save the life of her child. The love is really in the little things. Vacations reminded me of what an incredible person she is and I started to live for those rather than the hour on a Sunday where we did nothing but sit back and appreciate that minute. She begged for my attention but I didn't want to play Chutes and Ladders. I didn't want to play some dumb video game with her. I chose not to relish those moments, thinking that the big ones would suffice.

Teenagers are a completely different animal. Her depression both pulled us apart and pushed us together. I have pushed her away and pulled her towards me in the same way. This last year especially required a lot of my mental and emotional energy. Fortunately, there isn't a whole lot I would do differently in that sense. She was my sole focus. Her life became my purpose. And maybe that needed to happen. I think I needed to be reminded of who I was as a mother.

Now every moment feels bittersweet. Her last play. Her last concert. Her last prom. Her last, her last, her last. I think I've cried more over her growing up this last year than in the previous 17 years combined. Senior pictures reminded me so sharply of her one-year-old portrait session. She even wore denim similar to her tiny little dress in those photos. Prom made me sob for about half an hour. The graduation announcements arrived and I couldn't even read them. She now watches me for the tears that she has learned to expect.

These moments are poignant because they just are and they're supposed to be, but it's more than that. I'm losing her to her adult life. It's coming. It's just down the street. I hear it and I'm trying to be ready. I'm finally trying to be what she needs me to be. Problem is, my feelings get in the way. I want my baby back. I want another chance. I want to fix my mistakes. I want to be the mom with endless patience and hours of time and the sincere desire that I had when her feet were so tiny and she needed me so much. She needs me less now and it's both heart-wrenching and rewarding. Mostly it's just too much to process in three weeks.

So I'll cry. I'll beam with pride and cry some more. I will continue to be amazed at how beautiful she is. How surprisingly talented because that doesn't come from me. I can't claim that one. And I'll cry some more.

You can find me on June 8th in the corner. Crying and spilling with pride at the same time.

Adopting Strays

There's a big reason that I never go to the Humane Society. I hate seeing animals in cages and I want to bring them all home. Every single one. I don't have the space or the finances to do so, no matter what my heart tells me, so I avoid that place like the plague. And now it seems I've found a new kind of stray. Teenage girls.

I know, right? Weird. Crazy. Wtf is wrong with me? As much as my own teenager bugs me, I love her more and there are lots of things I like about her being around. And then I meet her friends and, since they're not mine, I can appreciate those things about them all the more. And I don't know what's going on, because I don't remember these problems when I was younger, but girls these days seem to be having such a hard time. Of course we all had problems with our parents. We were all trying to grow up and figure out our lives and how to find our way in the world. We had opinions. We had frustrations. But we dealt with them. My friend T was the exception. Her dad was some kind of drug lord and abused all of his kids and locked them in closets and other really awful things. T took it upon herself to go to the police and get the phones tapped so that she could get her younger siblings out of there and away from him. She was so strong; we admired her so much. But again, she was the exception.

Every time I turn around these days, some girl is exposed to horrible behavior or tragically depressed or completely lost, my own included. And they're not really strays, they have families, but I want to bring them home all the same because their own families don't seem to care.

Take C. I've known her for a couple of years and just adore her. C is beautiful and kind and honest and one of D's best friends. She's sassy (which of course I love!) and agrees with me when D is being ridiculous and unrealistic. She is so easy to get along with. I don't know what her mom's problem is. Her parents are divorced and her mom seems to think of her only when she wants to use her to get back at her dad. First, C was told to go live with her dad because mom just didn't want her around. Then suddenly, she wants to see her all the time and retain custody of her. For the money? That's the only thing I could think of, because when she didn't get it, because poor C had to testify against her, she stopped wanting her around again.

And how has all of this bouncing around affected her? As beautiful and healthy-looking as she is, she doesn't see herself that way. She doesn't eat. D is constantly worried about this. I pack extra tasty snacks in D's lunch to try to tempt C into eating. I make sure she knows that she is always welcome at our house. She needs a mommy and I try to substitute for that as much as I can. I'd take her in in a heartbeat.

I met H at D's birthday party. Yeah, she's a little chunky. It's especially noticeable around the other girls who all weigh an average of about 90 pounds. But she's adorable. Cute. Funny. Friendly. Sweet. D found out yesterday that she tried to kill herself for the second time in three weeks and for the third time in total. It's absolutely heart-breaking. More so because it appears (from the outside) that her mom isn't paying attention.

Why are these girls so unhappy? They are wonderful, beautiful people and they don't see it. From where I sit, their moms don't see it either. We all know I'm not perfect, but it breaks my heart when D is struggling. And these girls are breaking my heart. I want to bring them home and feed them and mommy them and tell them how much they mean to the world.

There's only so much I can actually do. I don't see these girls every day. And maybe I'm wrong. Maybe their parents are struggling just as much as I am to understand their daughters. But maybe if they know that just one more person cares about them and sees them for the lovely young women they are becoming, they'll see it too. And maybe there will be one or two less heartbreaks in the world.