Opinion: I’ve been a mom for more than 40 years. Here are some lessons I’ve learned
The role of a mother is ever-changing, and now that I’ve been working this gig for more than 40 years, I’m growing more comfortable with it.
Note, however, that I dare not use words that connote expertise or mastery. In many ways I remain an apprentice.
Time has allowed me the perspective to reflect on both the pleasure and the pain, the triumphs and disappointments of mothering without being too hard on myself, a feat I would never have managed if not for decades of experience. I used to think of motherhood as a job with an unusual goal: planned obsolescence.
All the parenting guides of my era seemed to agree that one measure of success was your adult children’s independence. In other words, the less those grownup kids needed you, the more you could claim victory.
But that’s not exactly true. I’ve learned that children’s needs evolve and a mother’s obligations should rearrange themselves accordingly.
You can’t parent without being changed by the experience, so I liken mothering to a kaleidoscope, every stage different, every color pattern amazingly beautiful. The mother I was in my 20s is a stranger, too young, too awkward, too eager for others’ approval. I wish I could hug her tight and whisper, Relax. It’ll be alright.
The mother I am in my late 60s, on the other hand, is more confident, less judgmental, forever appreciative of the moments she had, even the very difficult ones. When she drives by the schools and fields where her five children spent their childhood, her skin prickles, her heart thunders. Maybe it’s nostalgia, maybe it’s disbelief, but it’s not regret. Those days — crazy and hectic and seemingly interminable — belong to the past and are best left there.
I’ve now concluded that my kids thrived sometimes in spite of me. In retrospect, probably the smartest thing I did was to step back and allow them to make mistakes and face the consequences. Though developed more out of necessity than actual wisdom, that philosophy has made them resilient and resourceful.
It wasn’t easy doing this, though. The most natural desire in the world is to protect offspring. And sometimes you fail at that, even when trying your best. Since my daughter’s death, I can’t shake off that burden, no matter what anyone says to me.
As the mother of adult children, you soon learn to mind your manners, to watch your words, and to stifle that overwhelming desire to offer advice. On jobs. On marriage. On child-rearing. But you also have to be ready to help if a much-anticipated request comes in. I drop everything when they need me. Writing may be my lifelong passion, but babysitting the grands is my dream job and I make no bones about my superb qualifications for it.
Some might question this attitude, pointing out that my own life and career should take precedence. And it does, in between visits to the littles and not-so-littles. As I write this, I’m working on a new novel and publicizing another. Public appearances dot the calendar. Nevertheless, the need to see my kids and grandkids, to spend time with them, is my top priority. It will remain forever so.
A DIFFERENT MOTHER’S DAY
Mother’s Day will be different this year. My two youngest daughtersin-law will be celebrating their first Mother’s Day with my two youngest grandbabies. I consider this a blessing and plan to savor it from afar.
Because all my children live hundreds of miles away now, we will mark the day in a very techy way, with calls and videos and FaceTime but none of the flesh-pressing I’ve come to expect. It’s disconcerting and I won’t lie about that reality, but slowly — very, very, very slowly — I’m making peace with that distance. I remind myself, over and over again, that the ability to accept and adapt, the ability to appreciate the turns of a kaleidoscope, is a vital requisite of mothering.
Ana Veciana-Suarez writes about family and social issues. Email her at avecianasuarez@gmail.com or visit her website anavecianasuarez.com. Follow @AnaVeciana