Then And Now

It’s been months since my 19-year-old daughter, Katie, left for university and it’s not like I wasn’t prepared for it – the launching of my first born into the world. I gave her regular ‘lessons’ on the importance of kindness, honesty, humility, clean hands and clean underwear. I worked especially hard at helping her build self-worth, hoping that she could bypass the 45-year process I underwent before discovering it.

I probably didn’t do as good a job as I should have at some of the more practical things. She’s not the tidiest person in the world and I doubt that gourmet cooking and creaseless laundry will ever be her strengths. However, I did teach her, mostly by example, that she doesn’t have to be perfect, that we all have bad days, that you can’t always get what you want and that it’s better to show your emotions than keep them bottled up inside.

Heaven knows I got that last one right. Katie is particularly good at showing her emotions. Her emoting is like champagne being uncorked. There’s that initial powerful ‘bang’ when you pray that you don’t get a cork in the eye, and that nothing gets broken. Then there’s the uncontrollable gush which, if not caught in time, makes a mess everywhere. As things settle, there’s the steady fizz, the liquid sitting in its glass hissing and bubbling. Katie has been known to take to her bed during one of her emotional outpourings. She cries and yells at the world and at me.

The upside of this, of course, is I never had to guess whether or not she was upset. Her wails of despair, I’m sure, could be heard at the wall in Jerusalem. Like a good champagne, I have always appreciated the fullness, the authenticity of Katie’s emotions and like a good Mother I’ve been there to wipe up the spills, wash the glass and recycle the bottle when it’s finally empty.

Growing Justice

The other wonderful thing about Katie’s emotions is that she doesn’t just feel them for herself. When she was quite young, three or four, I was in awe of her already developing compassion. She has a tremendous sense of justice and equality and sees herself as part of a larger ‘whole’. At 8, she was protecting the little kids in the school playground, especially her brother. At 10, she asked a babysitter not to use racial slurs. At 13, she reported a teacher who was bribing students to go buy her cigarettes.  Now, she’s studying social work and psychology, trying to find her path into the adult world.

Truth be known, Katie hasn’t really occupied that much of my time in recent months. As she grew into teenager-dom I started to loosen my grip and by last summer, those few precious months before she left, I had really only been holding on to her with one finger. It was hard to hold on tight with one finger. But when I let it go I’m pretty sure I used it to point her in the right direction.

Mother and Friend

Now that she’s gone, though, I find myself thinking often of her birth and re-feeling the profound emotions I felt that day.

First and foremost, I was infatuated, head over heels, overwhelmingly in love with my baby girl. I’m forever grateful because up to that point, the moment she was born, the certainty of what love was had eluded me. And the infatuation has never completely gone away. I suspect it’s Mother Nature’s way of making sure we go the distance.

The other predominant emotion was guilt. I don’t mean, “Oh my gosh, I had that glass of wine two months ago, she’s going to be irreparably brain damaged” guilt. It was the mother load of guilt, the guilt of all motherkind. I shouldn’t be entrusted with this life. I don’t know how to take care of her. There’s no possible way she could end up happy and healthy with me as her Mother.

Now, the power of these emotions could cloud a person’s judgment left unchecked. Luckily, years of rebellion, teenaged self-absorption and being treated like ‘staff’ have put them both into perspective.

In the end, I did what all Mothers do – the best I could. In the bad times I resorted to just loving her and when the occasion warranted it, reminded her of her 16-hour delivery. There’s nothing wrong with sharing a little of the pain.

Preparing for Next Time

So, she’s gone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad she’s gone. It means she’s healthy and the fact that I’m glad she’s gone means I’m healthy. It’s not like she’s disappeared out of my life. She calls me to tell me how much I would enjoy her Women’s Studies course or that she has succumbed to the cold everyone else in residence has.

I patiently listen to her talk about feminism like her professor just discovered it and tell her to go get cold medicine. Our relationship has become this wonderful mixture of the old and the new – my chance to be both Mother and friend.

So, when I feel the emptiness of the teenage-girl-sized hole in my life, I go into her room and adjust things. I straighten the picture of her and her fourth boyfriend and smile as I remember the amount of wailing he caused. I reposition the stuffed elephant she sewed by hand in Grade 7. I return one of her many ponytail elastics to the straw basket she’s had since she was four.  In her room, I prepare things, getting them ready for her next visit home.

PERSONAL ESSAY