Little Truth Tales #26: Thirty Years

I’m getting ready to head up to see my first born son…for his 30th birthday! There are so many reasons why I can’t believe I get to say that..three stand out above all others- 1) That means I am extremely old. And. 2) I became a mom 30 years ago. And 3) I didn’t think I would get to be with him on this day, because for so long I did not think he would be alive. And guess what- blessings, miracles, etc.- I AM old, I AM a mom, and he IS alive.

My hands are actually shaking as I type this. Beyond my control. That esophageal spam inducing feeling of “Jesus fucking christ, there is so much of that as of late!”. As much as I hate this feeling, I continue to type…because what I can control is the telling of truth and stories. So here is this one….

My yearning to become a mom goes back as far as I can remember. In third grade at Palisades Elementary, I volunteered to help in the kindergarten class, opening the little milk containers and putting out snack. That is where I was in my element. I felt it…even as a 9 year old- babies, kids, nurturing, teaching, witnessing growth, all of it. I later became a teacher…4th grade, which was my favorite. Many of you will remember Ms. Zaslove, the best, young, clog wearing 4th grade teacher at Pali. She was bright light, in a place I remember to be as dim as slow floating dust particles. She breathed sparkle into our classroom, with her smile and her energy.

Fast forward surviving junior high, high school, excelling in college and grad school, marrying young, teaching, and having a baby….AIDAN, my first born son. The being I have been waiting for since I was a third grader. I have always been a body full of anxiety, a mindful of worry, just overall uncomfortable in my own skin (hence the drinking…and it worked until it didn’t). When Aidan was born, I felt no more guessing of what to do; I just knew. It felt as if I was born into what I was meant to be, the day he was born into the world. A comfort, a love like no other. I will always be able to remember that transition.

Fast forward newborn beauty, toddler amazement, youth curiosity, and then the beginning of a hell like no other- the watching of your baby slowly slip into a sea of riptide and excessive danger, a place where you can try to help and save and make better and take away the pain and bolster them with a million life preservers, that deflate the moment they put them on…At a certain point, I remember that my only goal was “to keep him alive for long enough so that his brain can mature and maybe he can put together enough sober time to see that there is a way of living that is not as deadly. That’s it. That goal, please G-d…

At a certain point, there is a guilt that finds its way in…one that feels like it sits right on top of the most important artery in your heart. Will it kill me? And. Do I wish it would? Both feelings at once. But guilt….ughhhhhhh…such a rude and intrusive thing….it does no good. I have many friends that I love so deeply that feel this, and most heavily weighing is that I know MY dad feels this about me. We have talked about his. I have pleaded with him that what he thinks is not what I experienced. I would do anything to take that guilt away from him. And I have shared my feelings with Aidan, and he too says for me not to feel that way, because it is not his truth. Wow, that is a lot of big stuff!

And here we are, about to celebrate Aidan’s 30th birthday…and he is sober (over a year), and he has a job, and is living a life I could only think was my fantasy. But it’s real Today, it’s real. Let’s celebrate that!