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the wise speak to the weary: older mothers to new

13 Comments

The elderly woman shuffled down the aisle, pausing at the end of our pew as she buttoned up her coat to brace herself against the winter cold.

She watched as our toddler lunged across his father’s lap to topple a stack of hymnals, nearing knocking his already-screaming baby brother to the floor. I was trying vainly to scoop up four coats, four hats, three baby toys and – somehow – one small shoe. Gritting my teeth as people glared at our less-than-graceful exit, I caught her eyes as she lingered.

“You have a beautiful family,” she said, smiling. “I remember what those busy days were like. I had six kids myself.”

She waggled six fingers my way with a grin as she turned towards the door: “SIX!”

. . .

I sprinted out of my parents’ kitchen almost as quickly as I’d raced in, in search of a pacifier. One boy was hollering on the monitor, or another was calling for a cuddle – I don’t remember. But as the rest of the family lounged around the Sunday breakfast table, savoring the post-holiday calm and a hot cup of coffee, my mother looked up at me and smiled sweetly, sadly.

“You don’t believe it now, but you’ll have all the time in the world again some day. You won’t know what to do with yourself.”

Her words pulsed in my head as I loped across the house to the crying children. Surely she was right, but from where I stood, the promise of time all to myself seemed like a luxury I vaguely remembered from the past but couldn’t imagine for the future. Someday.

. . .

“This Christmas card is the best one yet,” F declared as he flopped next to me on the couch, both of us exhausted from the bath/bedtime circus.

I flipped open the picture of the Magi crossing the desert to read a handwritten note from a dear family friend from back home:

Your Christmas letter was fun to read – whew! You remind me of the time I was your age with kids running around the house, but you know it’s a ‘wonderful life.’ The photo is priceless – thank you for sending it. Those two little guys look so huggable; if they were near me I would have to give them a big hug…I couldn’t resist it.

As the baby fussed in his bassinet and his older brother sang himself to sleep next door, I closed my eyes and wondered what it would feel like to be a mother on the other end of these days. Alone in a quiet house. Echoes and memories to keep me company.

. . .

Sure, the stories make me hug my babies tight, thankful for the gift of now, no matter how tiring it seems.

But they also teach me of the shades and seasons of motherhood: the years I will parent them up close and the many more I will love them from afar. Someday I will be the one smiling fondly at the rowdy young family, nostalgic for the fullness of those days.

In fact I will be the older, wiser mother for far longer than I will be the rookie I am today. God willing, more of my life will be spent on the other end.

So what does that mean for the mother I am now?

I imagine I’d tell myself the same things I’ve been told.

The days are long but the years are short. They’ll be grown and gone before you know it. You’ll have all the time in the world again someday.

So slow down. Chill out. Laugh more. Worry less.

Forgive yourself. And them. And all the others muddling along beside you. You’re doing the best you can, and it’s probably better than you realize.

And when you blink, it’ll all have changed.

So thank God for now.

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Comments

  1. Second Chances says

    7 January 2012 at 11:21 am

    Again, I LOVE this post! You have such a beautiful way of writing that is so touching.

    And it’s so true, that we need to slow down and laugh more because it just isn’t worth it to live in frustration during these short but beautiful days with our little ones.

    Reply
    • mothering spirit says

      13 January 2012 at 10:19 pm

      Thanks so much! I love your line about it not being worth it to live in frustration during these days…we’ve been on a lovely vacation this week during which our boys have seemed to conspire against us in making bedtime as frustrating as possible, so your words have been my mantra!

      Reply
  2. Amy B says

    7 January 2012 at 10:19 pm

    I love this post! Sometimes I wish we could “spread the wealth” of this time of life. Like some day when I am fifty and I want to snuggle with my baby again, I can!:). I guess that is what grandkids are for, right?:). The hardest thing, but the best thing in life, is to learn to embrace the present. This is another good reminder of that! Thank you! I do remember my mother-in-law telling me that she used to look around in the airplane and envy people reading books. She wondered if she would ever be able to do that again. That time certainly came, and I am sure she would trade it in a second to care for rambunctious toddler! :). (Though not sure I would. I can’t wait to read a book again! Or just sit…quietly…doing nothing…Ha!)

    Reply
    • mothering spirit says

      13 January 2012 at 10:22 pm

      AMEN! I envy every plane passenger these days who gets to read or snooze or do anything but try to quiet a screaming baby. But I try to remind myself that there will be days – years, even – when I will give anything to have the fullness of my today-life back. And yes, I will love grand kids for just that reason!

      Reply
  3. Ginny at Random Acts of Momness says

    8 January 2012 at 11:22 am

    Lovely post. Do you know Marie Bellet’s song “Ordinary Time”? (I should have researched the link before posting this, but I believe you can find it on Youtube.) She sings about exactly this sentiment … it’s beautiful and always makes me tear up.

    Thank goodness for all these “older and wiser” moms who help give us this much-needed perspective!

    Reply
    • mothering spirit says

      13 January 2012 at 10:24 pm

      Thanks for the suggestion, Ginny -I will have to check it out. I’m basically a huge softie for any song like that. 🙂

      Reply
  4. HomemadeMother says

    9 January 2012 at 12:08 am

    Such a beautiful post. I think I need to bookmark it so I can re-read it on the days when I feel stretched soooo thin and my patience is all but worn out. As precious as these fleeting days are, they can be so hard and exhausting and challenging. This post is a good reminder to slow down and appreciate the little moments that make up a life.

    Reply
    • mothering spirit says

      13 January 2012 at 10:25 pm

      The little moments that make up a life – so well-said!

      Reply
  5. Carrie says

    9 January 2012 at 10:42 am

    This post is exactly how I feel on my days. And I agree, in moments when I pause, that this time will change. But also, I do feel these types of comments somewhat irritating in the midst of busyness, exhaustion, and being pulled in so many directions. Maybe we could do a real service to ourselves and future mothers to think about how to share these feelings while at the same time acknowledging the reality of these full, loving, trying times?

    Reply
    • mothering spirit says

      13 January 2012 at 10:32 pm

      You raise a good point, Carrie. Sometimes I’ve found myself more annoyed than inspired by such comments, though later I realize the reminder to take the long view was just what I needed. Ironically, right after I wrote this reflection, I read this, which basically takes the opposite approach: http://momastery.com/blog/2012/01/04/2011-lesson-2-dont-carpe-diem/ This perspective and your comment make me aware of how I might come across when I give advice to pregnant mothers, for example. How do I support and encourage them where they are without pulling them somewhere else?

      Reply
  6. Peg Conway says

    11 January 2012 at 9:01 pm

    Mothering is demanding at all stages, and that’s part of what makes it so meaningful. The sight of mothers and small children kindles fond memories and also a bit of real longing for me now that our three are in high school and college, and I understand the impulse to remark on how fast it goes. Instead I want to emulate the veteran mothers who listened to me, encouraged me to trust my instincts and imparted confidence. I’m finding the letting go process painful at times but there’s real joy too, witnessing my children’s growing independence. This time is also rich with new opportunities for me. I’m trying to approach it as a form of birthing.

    Reply
    • mothering spirit says

      13 January 2012 at 10:35 pm

      I love your perspective, Peg – to think about what the tasks of mothering (birthing, letting go, etc.) mean at every stage. And your desire to emulate the wise women who lifted you up in your day – beautiful.

      Reply

Trackbacks

  1. an (un)surprising end to an (un)surprising year « mothering spirit says:
    31 December 2012 at 4:10 pm

    […] my prayer for them, and God’s prayer for me, too, I think. To realize the growth, to take the long view, but also to stay grateful in the moment, to breathe in the […]

    Reply

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I’m Laura Kelly Fanucci. Mother, writer, wonderer. This space is where I explore mothering through writing. It’s where I celebrate how God shows up in the chaos of raising children. It’s where I love to build community with readers like you. Read More…

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thismessygrace
If our daughters had lived, we never would have pl If our daughters had lived, we never would have planted this garden. 

There are pockets of beauty in my life today that could not have existed if they had survived.

Acknowledging this does not mean I accept their loss. Or that I wouldn’t trade it all to have them here instead.

But the grieving know this strange, stubborn, saving truth: that goodness can grow in the gaping holes left by the ones we love.

I don’t know any simple ways to make sense of the hard times in which we’re living. As a porous soul, I feel it all and it breaks my heart, even as I cling to what I know is true.

But loving and losing my girls has taught me that life is both heart-breaking and resilient, that surviving is more complicated than we suspect, that most people are walking around shattered beneath the surface.

Sometimes I can catch a glimpse of it, searing as sunlight: the grief in someone’s eyes behind their anger, the burden sagging their shoulders, the past that’s poisoning their present. Few things have transformed my life more than learning to recognize pain in others.

Grief is a long letting go of a life you thought you’d have. Most of us are carrying more of it than we realize—or remember when we’re dealing with each other (especially when we’re tearing each other down).

Go gentle today. Practicing compassion and generosity of spirit will crack open more of the world and its confounding struggles. You might lose the satisfying clarity you clung to before life broke your heart in complicated ways, but you will find more of God in the messy, maddening middle.

I have learned this much from the garden I never planned to plant, from a version of life I never dreamed.
Nearly 20 years ago (!) these crazy kids graduated Nearly 20 years ago (!) these crazy kids graduated from Notre Dame. Now we’re thick in the midst of life-with-kids, celebrating middle school & preschool & everything in between. 
 
Since June is a month for graduations & celebrations, I’m delighted to help you celebrate with @grottonetwork .

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To enter the giveaway, follow @grottonetwork and @thismessygrace and leave a comment below about what you’re celebrating this month. Tag a friend for extra entries (up to 3).
 
Rules: Open to the U.S. only. Entries will be accepted until 6/11/22 at 11:59 pm CT. The 2 winners will be chosen at random and announced on 6/12/22. Per Instagram rules, this promotion is in no way sponsored, administered, or associated with Instagram, Inc. By entering, entrants confirm that they are 13+ years of age, release Instagram of responsibility, and agree to Instagram's terms of use.
“How did you do this?” I want to ask her. “H “How did you do this?” I want to ask her. “How did you let your heart break a thousand times?”

I want to call my mother and ask her impossible questions, to probe her heart that held five children and let each of us go in the hardest ways. But I know what she will say, “It’s hard. But you’re doing a beautiful job.” She can’t give words to the deepest yearnings and groanings. None of us can.

I wish I could ask my grandmothers, each of them gone for decades now, each of them matriarchs who raised big broods of their own. I never got to know them as an adult, but I have heaps of questions: How did you do it? How did you not lose yourself or your way? Or did you, and that was precisely the point?

I want a whole book of answers to impossible questions, and none exists. So I send my thoughts to the mothers of faith whose short stories, mere snippets on pages, have sparked small lights to guide me along. To Sarah and Ruth, Hagar and Rachel, Mary and Elizabeth. Every unnamed anguish the holy ones carried, every treasure of love they held in their heart.

Is it any coincidence that birth often brings both cries and screams, laughter and joy?

We hold it all within us. We cannot give words to the enormity of what it means to mother.

I sit outside a coffee shop two blocks from my children’s school on a sunny afternoon, the last day of the year. I wipe away tears for the natural nostalgia, but I also feel the gutting grief welling up from my own wounds of motherhood to know a deeper truth: marking milestones with love and longing is nothing compared to the gaping loss of not having your child here to break your heart in a thousand tiny ways.

So I resolve again, a hundred times again, to let this vulnerability become the strength that keeps me fighting for all children to have what I want for my own: life, love, health, safety, support, opportunity, community, hope. This is how parenting asks us to change. To let the particulars of our lives stretch us to love more widely.

I once thought “to mother” meant to have and to hold.

Now I know it also means to let go.
Many of you asked me to save these suggestions I s Many of you asked me to save these suggestions I shared after the school shooting in Uvalde.

Remember: we can’t do everything, but we can each do something.

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Start there. Let your life and love lead you.
When women meet, the world changes. Today is the When women meet, the world changes.

Today is the Feast of the Visitation. A day when we remember the meeting of Mary and Elizabeth.

Two women pregnant with new life, blooming with prophetic power.
Two mothers called to change the world.

What would happen if we gathered together like this today?
How could the world change if we made Mary’s song our own?

“He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.”
(Luke 1:51-53)

Imagine if we stayed in this holy space—not for a moment’s meeting, but for months together—to gestate the dreams God was waiting to birth through us.

Imagine if we let ourselves be filled with the Holy Spirit to shout out with loud cries.
Imagine if we lifted our souls with prayers of justice and joy.

Imagine if we gave each other strength and service, courage and compassion, as we kept asking how to answer God’s call in our ordinary lives.

When women meet, the world changes.

If you want to know how to fight for justice for your children, for your people, for this world, look to the Visitation.

The mothers will show us the way. They already have.

(Image from the “Windsock Visitation” by Br. Mickey McGrath, OSFS, commissioned for the Monastery of the Visitation in north Minneapolis.)
Here’s what I wish I would have heard preached t Here’s what I wish I would have heard preached today on the Ascension.

Right now is a time to be prophetic and pastoral, a time for each of us to ask how God is calling us to act.
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