Another Mother's Day Alone

Another's Mothers Day passed without hearing from either of my adult children; Lisa and John Robert. Nor any of my Grandchildren.

Not a card, a call, or an email.

Even though it's what I expected, it always causes me retrospection. The thing is: I was not an addict, we were never homeless, I never re-married nor moved a lover in, they were not malnourished and I think the only bruises they had were from falling off swings!

We went to week-end movies, picnics, celebrated holidays, sold girl scout cookies, my son went camping with boy scouts a couple of times. They had childhood friends, played outside with trikes, bikes, and bigwheels.

My kids had a lot of love, and personal attention from me. Plus I always managed to somehow get their basic needs met. I always put them FIRST. In fact, I probably still do.

Yes, I could have been a BETTER mother. But I absolutely did the best I could being a single mom with some pretty severe medical problems, always living below the poverty level, and with absolutely NO help or guidance (all our relatives died or disappeared, before they were pre-teens).

You would think that all the above circumstances would have brought us close, made us a tight little family. It did, but only while they were children.

Early this Mother's Day morning, while half-awake, and trying to decide whether to roll over and go back to sleep or to get up; I heard Dr. Dodson on the radio.

He said that children learn to respect and value their Mothers, THROUGH their Fathers, by seeing their Dads do exactly that. (And I would assume, OTHER close relatives.)

That brought me wide awake! It was mind boggling. A concept I'd never heard or thought of. Instantly, I realized that my children had had 'no one else' to view me though. No one to teach them to love, value, or accept their Mother.

Their, alcoholic for years father, though present in the background (when he felt like playing the role), and paying a very minimum of child support, never did anything but deride me in front of them.

So, obviously they never learned that so important lesson. Even though in their childhoods they saw me value, respect, and help others. I did teach them that. And they do. They care about almost everyone but me.

Though I've repeatedly, and in many ways, let them know that I am their Mother and I love them & need them in my life. And in these 'later' years, sadly, I've 'reacted' to their behaviour rather than 'acting' as I normally would (another way to teach them?), probably a 'last resort' tatic.

I've also been there for them as adults, when they needed me, if only on the phone, or being a safe place to stay for a few months.

I've pointed out that I didn't treat MY relatives in such a way; that they SAW me love and care for their grandmother. I've also pointed out that THEY are teaching their children how to treat THEM. All to no avail.

There is nothing I can do; I can't make them love, and care about me. They are adults now, middle-aged actually, so they are consciously making choices about how they treat me, how they live their lives.

And there is nothing I can do about it except continue to love them, and keep them in my thoughts. Once every few years, I get out their 'boxes' of childhood keepsakes: baby books, favorite toys, locks of hair, and spend hours remembering and crying.

Now, thanks to Dr. Dodson, and the serendipity of waking to a radio 'moment', there is finally some understanding and closure for me as a Mother. It is not my fault that my children do not love me. (Other than in the choice of the man I fell in love with and married. An error in judgment I've paid dearly for ever since.)

My life goes on, without THAT one specific guilt, even if I'm still living with a broken heart...