It's Okay, My Feelings Aren't Hurt

Mrs. Mernin and you after the Moving Up Ceremony today.

Dear Punchy,

Today was your Moving Up Ceremony, 9:45 a.m. at Nishuane School! You and we have loved that school; what a nurturing, enriching environment. It goes from K to 2nd grade. Next year, Hillside School!

But when I caught your eye and waved while all of you were singing, you looked away without a nod or smile and never made eye contact again. In fact, you determinedly looked the other way for the rest of the singing.

After the ceremony, when we all spilled out onto the back lawn of the school for bagels, fresh fruit and cold drinks, you wouldn't come near me. Dan had to scoop you to give you a hug, but when I said, I'm so proud of you! Congratulations! you gave me a scowl and walked away. You did finally allow Mrs. Mernin to give you a hug. Like us, she has loved you since you were a baby!

Punchy, you might be older and wiser when you are reading this. I hope you realize how much I have loved you, loved you, loved you. You came back from an overnight visit with Mom on Sunday and said, You're so far from a Mom. My Mom said so. 

I said, Well, that's not kind and that's not true. I am a Mom. I'm a Mom to Annie and to Sugar. And I do everything a Mom would do for you, getting you to school, taking you to the doctor, everything. And if your Mom said that, that's unkind.

No, I lied. you said quickly. My Mom didn't say that.

This is what I'm up against all the time. But I understand; you are caught between a rock and a hard place. You are made to feel disloyal if you allow yourself to embrace and love me. It's not so bad with Danny, because your Daddy is no longer alive. But this, this animosity toward me, is a poison pill you were given to swallow; you are a child. You have no choice but to drink the Kool-Aid, as they say. [Do you know what that term means yet?]

Do you remember that we never expose you to bad talk about your Mom? That I have urged you to write cards for her, send her presents, call her? That we drive 3 hours round trip so you can see Mom, because she doesn't have a car? That up in Camden, Maine, you and I chose two beautiful gifts for her one summer? That for Mother's Day this year, I hurried to the P.O. so your card would make it in time? That I glued gold glitter around the word MOM on the tan envelope?

It's okay, my feelings aren't hurt when you won't say I love you back sometimes. I don't know what it is to not be with my Mom at such a young age and in such a confusing story. I lost my Mom to cancer when I was 20 and it felt like someone ripped my heart out.

I don't cry when you act like I'm an Uber driver rather than a mom figure. When you run away when Sug and I go to meet you at the bus stop at 4 p.m., even though I interrupted my work and hurried up the hill to get to the corner. When you say You're not my Mom [or She's not my Mom, in front of a friend]. I have tears in my eyes writing this at my laptop, while you sit behind me in my home office, sipping some of my iced coffee....right now, you're standing at my elbow, but focusing on my phone rather than what I'm writing.

TBH, yes my feelings are hurt and yes, I get angry about this. But I choose to move forward as gracefully as I can, step by step, on this complicated journey, knowing that if it's complicated for me, it must be a thousand or a million times more complicated for you. And I am not always graceful.

Yet I've noticed a pattern lately when you come back from visits with Mom. You say, Alice, you're so overprotective. 

You say it like it's a fault but I know in my heart that we're both glad I protect you and am here for you. That I do my best to shield you from bug bites, sunburn, drafts, spoiled milk, hurt feelings, skinned knees, cavities, falls from tree branches. That I'm there if you throw up or need a cold washcloth for your forehead. That I nag you to wear a helmet every time you step on your blue Hoverboard. I can't protect you from everything, but I try.

Well, I'd like to write more but I have to work! I have a writing deadline, and you are home early after the ceremony. Miss Elaine can't get here until 3 or after to watch you.

I love you, Punchy. Always remember that. Mother or no mother, I love you with every maternal bone in my body, every beat of my heart. You push me away, and I back up and try to give you space to move. That is our dance.

And for the record, I am so very proud of you on this special day! You've come such a long way. Maybe you didn't want to hug me because you felt bad that Mom wasn't there. That must be painful.

BTW, I think you will be a wonderful mommy yourself one day--and/or engineer, school principal or designer. Whatever you choose to be. And I hope and pray that life will be kind to you and you in turn will be kind to those you travel life's path with.

Love always,
Alice