Sometimes the still and quiet of night invites thought that fills, then overflows my heart, and I am stunned in its wake.
My oldest baby woke me up 49 minutes ago because "something was wrong", she couldn’t stop shaking. Hearing the fear in her voice, as I startled from vapored dreams I’ll never remember, I was concerned, too. I don’t remember the last time she awakened me because she was sick…it has been that long.
She’s 15. F i f t e e n. Time’s elusiveness is never more cruel than when measured against the lives of my children. Looking back, a parade of memory and milestone marches before me–haughtily? hauntingly?–a time-lapsed photographic montage of temper tantrums and lost teeth, dress-up and dollies, deep belly laughs and oceans of tears–the latter, as determined by circumstance, either breaking my heart in sympathetic commiseration or boiling blood in frustration.
A reluctant glance ahead reminds me I’ve got her four more years. Less than, really…and like beads of mercury rolling among shards of shattered, tempered glass on a tiled bathroom floor, I can’t quite grasp all that I want to, and if I’m not attentive, careful, I’ll miss something. Or even get hurt.
She had me wrapped, you know, just moments after her lungs drew first oxygen. I don’t even have to close my eyes to see her tightly swaddled form. I remember thinking she looked like an ice cream cone–her body, a perfect elongated triangle, and her tiny rounded head, a flawless single scoop, only with dark eyes blinking at the world around her, and a tiny tongue curiously licking miniature ruby lips. This is the child who would, in just a few years, charm her way into holding precious gift shop collectibles, assuring me with a practiced solemnity belying her age, that she only "wanted to kiss it"; which is just what she did with countless porcelain kitties and bunnies and doll statuettes, never breaking one in the process.
She wouldn’t understand this, but she’s my hero and my teacher (as are all of our children). Always a reserved child, she has never drawn attention to herself, she preferred invisibility. This is something that took years for me to understand. Because I was outgoing, for a season, I tried to "help" her overcome her shyness; eventually I learned there is, in fact, a subtle difference between "shy" and "reserved" ("shy" tends to avoid people; "reserved" simply limits whom you allow into your world) and truly there’s nothing wrong with either.
Over the past six months, we’ve witnessed her metamorphosis from a girl to a young woman. I wasn’t prepared for this, the richness and grace of watching someone "become". Slowly, she has allowed the veil that for so long has hidden her, to lower, to reveal more of herself–she has begun allowing herself to be "seen". This probably sounds crazy, maybe it doesn’t make sense to speak it, but observing the subtle changes has been a privilege, a delight. How clearly the cycle from caterpillar to chrysalis to butterfly has become metaphor for her life.
It has been a landmark summer for her–her first cell phone, she can drive, and she’s a high school freshman. I noticed when asked her grade, she never said "ninth", it was always "freshman". Her response when questioned about my observation amused me (and I think her, too): "We have a title, Mom…it’s sounds so much better to have a title than just a grade." Of course, what was I thinking?
She is rare and exquisite, and by choice, an innocent; not ignorant in the ways of the world, but somehow set apart. The gravity of what is pure and right draws her much more so than the allure of a confused culture that finds identity in celebrity. Her countenance and steady faith challenge me at times.
On our trip out west, she casually remarked she’d like to go to school "out there". My knee-jerk response? "You can’t!" She said, "Why not? It’s beautiful here," and I said, "If you do, you’ll fall in love with someone and marry him and move far away from home." Her next words were barbed daggers to my heart: "But, Mom…you’ve always said you were raising us for someone else, not for yourself." My own words, returned back to me, reminding me to hold her with an open hand (who knew how painful that could be?).
And so tonight, as I laid in her
bed with her, my body wrapped around hers to quell the shake, I purred words of calm and reassurance…together we metered our breathing, slowly four counts in, two counts out…and as mind and body relaxed, her shaking gradually subsided.
In that moment, I wished for the rest of her life i could bring
healing in a touch…in my quiet whispers…in silent prayers…
For now, I’m thankful I still can.
For Thomas (Trifecta – Part Two)
For Stephen (Trifecta – Part One)
How blessed she is to have a mom like you.
Making me cry before coffee is somehow just not fair.
Beautiful post, Robin. You yanked at every mother’s heartstrings.
This is stunning, Robin–both the writing and the substance. And it means all the more to me because I could have written it about my own daughter almost to every word. Except now she’s 24, living “out west” where she did go to college, and about to marry the beautiful man we raised her for.
May you be granted grace to soak up every moment of the next few years with your set apart daughter.
Love, Jeanne
Oh Robin- Your post broke my heart today. My 15 year old who is “reserved” also (but only at school) has to have an MRI today because the doc thinks she has a labral tear in her shoulder. If she does she will not be able to cheer for 4-6 months and that will break her heart. We lay on my bed yesterday discussing the what if’s. It hurts my heart to see her heart hurting.
You are an awesome mom and I think I’ll go home and tell my kids that I’m “raising them for someone else”, but only if that someone else loves them beyond measure. You made me a little weepy today, yet I feel solidarity in knowing I’m not alone. Thank you.
Touching tribute to your daughter!
People like you and posts like these make me think that maybe motherhood isn’t so bad.
What an incredible picture you paint with words here. You have a gift. Having just started this journey of parenthood with our newly adopted daughter, your story points out the necessity to treasure each moment, milestone, and memory. Once again, thank you for sharing.
That made me sad. I know that we only have our children for a few years, but I haven’t grasped it emotionally.
I hope she is feeling better.
What a truly beautiful post. Thank you.
Robin That was a beautifully written post and ‘raising your children for someone else’ shows that you are an amazing mother. I hope your daughter is feeling better now.
THANKS for all your kind words and concern; she was feeling MUCH better within half an hour, but I stayed up a while to “make sure” she was okay. While I was up, I HAD to write this, you know? One of those times I just HAD to :). Thanks for listening!
Michelle, sowry (I’ll give you some tissues 🙂 ).
Tami, thanks, mine were kinda torn as I wrote.
Jeanne, your encouragement is appreciated. I imagine you may have heard me more clearly than anyone else (since you’ve lived much of what I’ve written). Thank you, too, for your more than generous thoughts “off the record” today, too :).
Jen, ((hugs)) to you AND your daughter! That kind of trauma can mean EVERYTHING in that moment! The great thought is that it is in those moments are children are most teachable…just lying there, listening, loving ministered healing to her broken heart…wonderful “mommy medicine”! Thanks for sharing your thoughts.
Thanks Lisa!
Heather…when it’s right, you’ll know it…don’t be pressured before then (and you’re right…it’s an honor that will leave you speechless and sometimes…at the end of your rope :/) (maybe even beyond!).
Robert, being a parent changes you (as I’m sure you’re learning). I’m convinced God places our kids in our lives to shape us, mold us…and at times break us (kind of an lol there). All of it with purpose and intent…that makes everything look a bit different, you know?
Beckie, I hope…I trust…thoughts like these will help you grasp it. It’ll free your children in ways they need to be freed (eventually…and not all at once, little by little).
Jana, did I mention it’s good to have you back? Thanks for your thoughts, too!
Chris, gosh, all you can do is try your best…it’s the hardest, best job anyone could ever ask for. Through our children we change the world!
As the mother of a “Freshman” I can relate. Who knew this would be so hard? Beautiful post.
Oh Robin, you’re a master. At seeing what’s important. At recognizing the wonder of these incredible changes in your daughter.
Beautiful post. You’re both lucky to have each other…
Beautifully written. You never really understand the pain it is to be a parent and to watch your child grow up and let go. I hate admitting my mother was right. She told me the same thing and I never believed her until now.
I hope I can have the same understanding and eloquence with my daughter when she reaches 15. You were able to put into words what most of us mothers are thinking. Thanks.
I am trying to comment on how beautiful your writing is – but I am worried about your ‘baby’. Is she OK? What would make her start shaking like that?
Oh – and posts like yours right here make me want to be a mom even more than I already ache to be.
I LOVE this post! My oldest daughter is just a few years behind yours – on the cusp of becoming a teenager, and her transition into womanhood is beginning all too quickly. You express yourself so well in your love for her.
it’s so awesome to read this. my daughter is only 3 now, and i’m always wondering what will change, and what — by the sounds of it — will stay exactly the same.
You are an AWESOME mom!!!
As I lay in bed with my little Bethany this morning, calming her little 15-month-old self, I could not imagine raising her for someone else; she is mine, my own, my precious little gift from God. And yet you remind me she is borrowed; I’ll have to let her go, and that is the farthest thing from my mind and heart. I see her growing, becoming a little individual, and I am proud of her. Yet, I am also wistful that with every accomplishment she is growing further away from me.
You remind me that that is the way it is supposed to be. I am joyful…and sad. I so want her to be my sweet little princess forever.
You are a glorious writer, my friend.
Oh Robin, this post really got to me. It’s exquisitely beautiful.
My daughter is fifteen also. I’m reminded that letting go happens slowly as they pull away bit by bit, in fits and starts. And it’s so necessary to their growth. And so bittersweet for us.
Hulagirl (btw, LOVE that name!), welcome! I know what you mean…you “hear” these things before you get here, but it’s a whole new ballgame when you arrive yourself.
Kelly, I’m thankful I’ve been given eyes to “see” her (it’s so easy to miss the little things). And I agree with at least half of your last line…;).
Nikk, there’s NO WAY to understand until you get “here”…all the tellin’ in the world doesn’t mean a thing til you experience it yourself imho.
Karmyn, lol, I had this thought when I read your (very kind) comment, “Must’ve been ’cause I was writing when my mind was half asleep”…for whatever reason, I couldn’t stop til it was DONE!
Margaret, as you know by now, Rachel is FINE! It was just a combination of things and I don’t think it’ll happen again :/. The great thing about becoming a mom/parent is they don’t get to 15 overnight (well, figuratively they do…). Just like them, when it comes to mommying, first you crawl, then you walk, then you run and jump and flip :). You never really know it “all”, but if you’re open to learning, you’ll get some of it right :).
Hey Heather! When you find yourself l i k i n g your kids, their company, it’s a wonderful thing. All that “tough love” early on pays off so well in the future (not that they aren’t going to make mistakes, disappoint, etc.).
Hi Jonathon, you know, I’m convinced of this: who they are at three is who’ll they’ll be at 13…and 33…and 93; they just become MORE of “who” they are. Does that make sense? I really think it’s critical to be intentional in “training” them (to the degree that behavior can be trained) when they’re young. And it’s work. And sometimes you feel like it’s pointless. But then they get to 15 and you realize it was worth beating your head against a wall…
Stephanie, I’VE MISSED YOU GIRLIE-Q!! My blog hasn’t been nearly as singalicious without you!
Ya know, I know you adore Miss Beth…but I’m glad you happened to pop in my blog today. This is the kind of thing I’m thankful I heard a thousand years ago because it 1) helped me get used to the idea that one day my babies would leave home, 2) that EVERY day they’re growing in independence and that’s a GOOD thing, 3) this is a natural, healthy progression into adulthood.
Thanks for your generous comments, when you come back, you come back blowin’ all kinds of air up my skirt! 😀
Wow, Tiger Lamb Girl, your comment was lovely (thank you). Doesn’t it help you to be reminded of these things? It does me. I find myself wanting to cling to the time I have left with them, yet realizing that’s the worse thing I could do for all of us. Those feelings have caught me by surprise. Somehow it’s nice to think them out loud with others.
Publish this. Really, really nice. A very thoughtful reflection that all Moms can relate to. Well done!
I’m convinced that it’s the transitions that do us in. Our daughter is preparing to move to Hawaii next week–yes to follow that man. She’s become engaged this summer and now it truly is good-bye. Ouch.
I know I’ll be fine in a few weeks, but for now, I must watch and suffer through the metamophosis in its final phase. Pray for me sister! {{{Hugs}}}
I just can’t read this today… will be back to share later.
On a lighter note, my toenails look like yours today.
Robin, my sister always says God gives us our children because He knows we are the ones who can take care of them best. She says these words when I am in despair as I am now and I always wonder if He made a mistake. How wonderful you know who you are and who your children are and how wonderful are to they have you.
I hope with time I will be as wise.
You still want to hold them and calm their troubles when they grow and move away…
wish it was so simple as when they were small.
lovely post.
wonderful words, wonderful sentiment…and thru my tears, from a reserved mom of a reserved child….
{hug} to you
E-mom, Hawaii…wow…I guess the upside is it’s a great place to visit and you’ll have a free place to stay, but…gosh…{{hugs}} to you (and imagining your…conflict of emotions :/).
Swampy, You mean they’re an “Affair in Red Square”??!! Have you been spying on me???
Robinella, Honey, you’re shaping minds for a living…you’re changing the future as a result. That’s a superhero in my book!
Pamela, I believe you (and thanks 🙂 ).
Elena Jane, I wish I had you around to help me “read” her mind (especially when she was younger :/).
Claudia, Hey cutie! Hope you’re hangin’ in there!!
Robin, this is one of the loveliest posts that I have ever read. You have written a beautiful tribute to your daughter, who is growing into a profound young woman. I think that she gets some of this from her mom.
I’m sitting here just bawling.
Beautiful, my friend. Simply beautiful.
beautiful is right! that was an exquisite post.
Yes, Robin, it does help to be reminded. Your post came at a particularly poignant time for me (and my daughter). xo
Like Swampy, I’ve been having a hard time with this one. I keep thinking I’ll leave a comment, but am too emotional…so I keep returning to August 21st where I can hide behind my snarkiness. Thanks for…oh never mind…I’ll be back.
Wow. Just, wow. I only hope that I can be the understanding and caring and intuitive mother that you are.
I’ve never read a more perfect post. If only we could keep them little forever.
((Robin)) ((Your precious baby))
What a beautiful and heart-breaking post! It made me heart ache. Why do children have to grow and change so quickly?
Okay sweet bloggity friends…your words, MUCH too generous, touch me…reach me…in ways you’ll never know. Thanks Molly, Jenny, Janice, TLG, Min, Rachel, Swampy, Heather. Truly, I appreciate each kindness you extended to me.
Beautiful post. You said it perfectly.
Oh, Robin. I love your trifecta. I’ve been finding my way through the blogs of my new Blissdom friends and am so happy to have landed here.
You’re a stunning writer and obviously a fantastic mom.
I wish we’d had a chance to visit at the conference, but maybe we’ll meet up another time. (My trip to Blissdom got me motivated to revive my abandoned blog.)
Thanks for the tenderness you shared with me today.
Molly W
(Hallmark)
MOLLY!!! You have NO idea but I was crushing on YOU big time at BlissDom!! I SO wanted to meet you (more than in passing at the workshop) and have "real" conversation. When I saw your comment here, well…you just made my day :). Your words brought with them sorely needed encouragement and many smiles. Thank you.
I shall have to hunt down your blog; I have a feeling my crush might possibly expand.
Oooo, and I LOVED meeting and talking with Sarah for the Hallmark video segments and appreciated that opportunity. Pure fun!