Confessions of a Daughterless Mother

View from my walk ... For my entire life my grandparent's house was a cozy, blue, wood-sided ranch nestled in a bed of pine tree needles, pachysandra and ivy, protected by the sentry pines that dropped their leaves in soft, velvety piles -- fragrant enough to make you believe it was Christmas in the heat of July. I have many memories of that house: my aunts and uncles laughing around Grandma Rachel's yellow dining room table, swimming at the neighborhood pool, learning how to make the perfect grilled cheese (making sure the butter crisped the edges) and eating made-to-order omeletes by my grandpa's hand ... reading books and sitting by fires, opening Christmas presents in their basement, watching the rainbows float from my grandma's glass paper weight collection. And buckeyes, always there were buckeyes. Today, I was walking with Luna--my two year old silver Lab--opting out of the gym and enjoying the last promises of 70 degrees and sunshine that only Octobe...

A few months ago Eric and I were having dinner with Aiden at Cugino's -- our favorite hometown restaurant. When we walked in -- there was a wait per usual -- Eric scanned the crowd looking for familiar faces. A woman caught his eye as she sat and chatted, waiting for her table. A minute later they were smiling and hugging, she was holding his hand and her eyes were wet with tears. She was the momma of one of his best friends growing up -- a woman he hadn't seen (he guessed) in 15 ... maybe 20 ... years or more? She and her husband were seated next to us and we continued to chat for the evening--often she apologized for interrupting our meal, he was quick to let her know she could never be a bother, that he was enjoying the reunion as much as she. They caught up on the past two decades, where people were living, what jobs they had, how old their kids were. She marveled at how much Aiden reminded her of a young E ...  I mostly listened, smiling, watching the tide of hist...

I'm trying to find balance. I'm trying to find a place where hanging on and letting go can play nice in the pool. I called the high school guidance counselor this morning. Cooper filled out several college apps over the past few weeks--I have done little more than proof read for him. He has handled it, finding web sites, making decisions, gathering information. He ran into a glitch with his Saginaw Valley app. The college's website was causing a few errors in the submission process and he was hesitant to send it in. I offered to call for him and help him get it settled. And then I second guessed myself. After all it was during school hours. He can't call then. And it needs to be done. We need to cross it off the list. I called. They were wonderful, helped us -- me -- figure out the issue and even waived our application fee for my trouble. And then I second guessed myself. Should I have let him call? He would have had the feeling of gratefulness that I di...

                                               Energy Flows Where Attention Goes While preparing for savasana in my yoga class on Monday morning my instructor quoted one of the seven Hawaiian--Huna--life principles for us to meditate and focus on during our corpse pose relaxation/meditation.  My practice that day had been a struggle--my back was giving me fits and I was ready to settle into my mat and not move. I heard his words, "energy flows where attention goes" and while they struck me in the moment--which often happens for me and words--I was tired. I was discouraged. I was hurting. I filed them in the back of my mind and settled into a restless savanna. Today, his words came leaping into my mind as I headed out the door for my walk. I quickly googled the phrase before I left--there are many interpretations--and repeated it over and over in my mind tryi...

                                                                 Photo Credit Linda Swantek When I was younger--perhaps 13 or 14--I vividly remember walking out to our mailbox, giddy with life. I was happy, skating was good, my friends were good, my grades were good, my parents were good.  The sun was warm on my shoulders, my heart was light.  Life was good that day. The memory coats my heart like thick honey, not so much for the steps I took toward the mailbox, but rather the comfort I found in finding--the sweet spot. My worries were nil, my small, young life was in a place where I was comforted by what was around me, not anxious or worried or sad.  For years after that, I used that moment as a litmus test--a measuring stick of sorts--how happy am I now compared to the day I walked to the mailbox?...

Parenting magazine used to come to my house. A monthly edition - right to my mailbox! Any downtime I had was spent reading tidbits that applied to my new role as momma. From that magazine I got the idea to stow away a small disposable camera in different areas of the house - so that I would always be ready to snap a photo of my boys milestones. No missing Jackson's first steps because I couldn't find my camera! Can you imagine! It seems archaic now - with a smart phone in every pocket of jeans walking around this house - that I would have ever feared missing a first word, a first step, a cute pose.  If social media had been around when the boys were little I would have been the first to post the photo I took of them out in the front yard - naked except for cowboy boots - covered in mud after an excursion of frog hunting ... "Look at my crazy boys!" I would have posted. "I wouldn't trade them for the world ..." I would have added. I would have po...

Sleep was hard to come by when my boys were little. Not always because their little motors wouldn't idle, often because mine would cease to rest. My fears, bite size during the day, became larger than life when dusk turned to night. Resting my head on my pillow signaled instant panic, my eyes stretching open to grasp any ray of light, my heart pounding. My nightly safety rounds, looking in on each little body, laying a hand on their chest to be sure their quiet breath was still rising and falling, did little to abate my anxiety. I took to laying on the floor next to their beds, traveling under the darkness from room to room. Laying in wait for the danger in my mind to explode into my life, hurt my boys and destroy me.  My anxiety was particularly difficult after Aiden was born - I struggled with post partum depression featuring anxiety and panic attacks. My lack of sleep fed my demons, the more tired I became the larger the dangers would loom. As day broke, I could find my f...