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.

God and Gays and My Kid

"They" say that there comes a time when you have to let your child go and trust that you have instilled in them the proper values and ways in which to view the world. But "they" don't live with my kid and they haven't watched the Really Dumb Teenager things she has done lately. For these Dumb Reasons, I haven't been ready to let go.

D started attending church a few months ago. At first it was sort of an interesting rebellion. I think I took her to church once in her life and I believe the bible is just a very old book with some nice stories. Also some not-nice stories. She didn't choose drugs or drinking or raccoon-rings of black eye-liner. She chose Jesus. I told myself it could be worse.

And then it got a little weird. She got a little judgey and wanted to know why I wouldn't go. She begged me to attend services with her. I acquiesced only when she got baptized because it was a Really Big Deal to her. (Unlike the fancy stepped tubs I was used to seeing as a child, they used a horse trough. Huh.) Surprisingly, my non-believing self did not spontaneously combust. Maybe Jesus forgives you when you're supporting your only child for his sake.

All along I tried to temper her fervency for the holy spirit with healthy doses of reality. She denied my claims of religious hypocrisy, holding fast to her belief that these were Good People who only had her best interests at heart. Unlike her mother who went through 52 hours of labor? Huh. Again. I finally just asked her to promise that she would think about what she was told, rather than just blindly accepting whatever was spouted in her general direction. I wanted to impress upon her that she could still decide for herself what is right for her because the world just isn't black and white, as much as one might wish that it were.

She came home after her most recent youth group complaining that the members there were anti-gay and she doesn't believe it's right. She opened up a bit more a couple of days later saying that the adult male in the group gushed about how "amazing" sex with his wife is while the other adults nodded and murmured "amen." "Don't you think it's really inappropriate to tell teenagers how great sex is? Isn't that irresponsible?" I've loved her more in other moments, but as soon as she said that, I was pretty damn proud of her.

She missed church this Sunday, partly because she was really sick, but partly because she wants to make the move to a different church. She wants to "love God" while being able to accept and be accepted. She decided she can no longer be a part of or support an organization that goes against her beliefs. Or the rights of hundreds upon thousands of people across the world, if we want to get down to the real issue.

I may be able to let go just the tiniest little bit. She does get it. She's showing real maturity. In this case. I'm not going to go all crazy and just throw her out into the world, but I might let her cross the street by herself. She's earned that much.

Because I love her and am proud of her and want to support her for standing up for what is Right, I have offered to help her find another place of worship by attending with her. If you're worried about me converting as a new fanatic, don't. I suppose I will be thrown out sooner rather than later. I have this mouth, you see. It doesn't come with a filter.