To mothers.

“When we cast our bread upon the waters, we can presume that someone downstream whose face we will never know will benefit from our action, as we who are downstream from another will profit from that grantor's gift.” 

-Maya Angelou

And this is why I post this narrative…it is my bread being cast upon the waters.

Estrangement between adult children and their mothers and/or fathers is known in 2013 as the silent epidemic. It is silent mainly because parents whose children have rejected them, who have taken grandchildren away from them, who have told them they never want to see or hear from them again, many times with no tangible or rational reasons given, feel such shame and grief that they don’t want to talk about it for fear people will think they must be horrible depraved parents. Well, that is not the case most of the time.  Statistics prove it.

My message to my fellow mothers?…..Be grateful for what is before us right now the present is the only guarantee we really have.

This year was my 28^th Mother’s Day, and the 30^th anniversary of my mother’s death. My 30th mother’s day without my mum.

I would give anything to have another day with my mum, even another hour. I miss her dreadfully, painfully, every day. She was my mentor, guide, advocate, safety net, and she said I was the light of her life. I never quite understood that until I became a mother. When a child has grown under your own heart, or when a child has captured your heart, there is not turning back. It is greater than any natural laws, it need not be acquired and it need not be deserved, it is there, unconditional unending, profound. It is full blooded, courageous, pure and poignant.

A mother is not be perfect, after all this is her first life too, but her love is perfect. It can be injured, it can be hurt, it can be tested, challenged, rejected, but it is undefeatable. . It can experience great joy, anxiety, terror and tragedy, it is immortal.

 Even though my mum has been gone more than half my life now, I still feel her love every day, it has stayed with me, it is breathtaking, it is heart wrenching and it is beautiful.

As I grieve my mother’s absence and am so terribly sad that she never saw my children, never saw me as a mother, never saw her grandchildren, she never got to love them and they never got to love her, and as I yearn for that chance that will never come, that history could somehow be re written and she would be here, I feel like we are still in a dialogue even now. I know that a mother’s love for her child outlives her.

As perfect and undefeatable a mothers love is, there is nothing that can be done to save a relationship between a parent and a grown child. And sadly, little children lose too.

I have not seen my grandchildren in a long time. I only really got to know one of them, love one of them, cherish her, adore her, before I was dismissed from their lives. One minute I was there in the delivery room for my oldest two, I saw my daughter birth them, my heart was full, the moment the most precious of my entire life.

But I didn’t see it coming. Estrangement was unfathomable to me. I only know that it started with one of my children and then that child took another one along with them. Convinced them I was not worth knowing. I should not be a grandmother. I lost two children and three grandchildren.

 Just. Like. That.

They won’t tell me what I did, they won’t let me communicate, defend myself or make amends, take responsibility, whatever is required to put our family back together. I cannot know what their perception is.  I cannot fix it. It appears they don’t want me to. It appears they are content in their loss of me. Maybe if they could get a glimpse of my best intentions, my conflict, my commitment, my humanity, they would come back to me.

 I am in an abyss. I feel like I have been murdered but my heart still beats. How do you not be a grandparent anymore when you were one, ARE one, and you loved it and loved them and could hardly wait for the next day with them? How do you take that out of your soul once it has been there? You don’t. You can’t.

How do you reconcile that your children who you planned or maybe didn’t plan but loved the surprise, who you birthed, loved, nurtured, truly hate you with all their being- so much so they do not care about you, they do not think about you, they do not want you around them and their new families? You don’t. You can’t.

It is like being on death row for a crime you did not commit, but it is you who decides if you live or die. If you are freed or confined for the rest of your years.

I wish I could not love them anymore. I wish I could not think about them anymore. I wish I could write them off as users and losers and be glad I am rid of people who must have no sense of empathy, honor, loyalty, no sense of family.

While they deny me a part in their adult lives and in the lives of their babies, one of the things they cannot deny me, and the thing I hang onto the most in the darkest times, is that I am the one who gave them life. And in turn, part of me lives in their children. They are who they are in part because of me.  I nurtured them when they were helpless babies relying on me for love, warmth, nourishment, protection, it was me who watched over them and advocated for them, encouraged them, guided them, laughed with them, cried with them, forgave them and mothered them from the time I birthed them. I was the first face they ever saw. They have both slept under my heart.

It would be so much easier to just turn my back. But it’s that mother’s love thing again.

The truth is I worry about them all the time and can’t stop wondering what horrible thing I did to make my own children turn against me. How did the children who laughed, played, held my hand, cuddled, asked me for advice, showed love and compassion towards me, loyalty towards me, come to reject, shame and belittle me?

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child.  (King Lear-Shakespeare)

This mother’s day was painful. It was filled with trepidation, what if’s and a slim and faint hope that the doorbell might go or the phone will ring and it will be one of them or both of them, telling me they are coming back to me. Even though I have children who love me and who I mean the world to, who remind me every day that there is a reason to be happy, to have fun, to count my blessings, to look forward to the future, to my future and to their future,  there will be moments in the day I will wonder if the other two have given any thought at all to their mother.

Sometimes the part of my heart that is broken, has pain so piercing and constant I can hardly breathe; it’s as if a cement block has been permanently placed on my chest. I don’t think it will ever go away. Grieving becomes a way of coping with the tremendous loss that now makes up my life. And even though the jagged edges of my own grief have begun to smooth out a bit, I also know that it will always be with me and forever define my family. It is not just me who has lost my children, but my children have lost their siblings, their nieces, their nephew. And my grandchildren have lost half their heritage.

And this mother’s day I’ve learned to embrace the paradox of unfathomable loss and profound gratitude for living. 

But there's no anticipating when grief will sneak up and wash over me like a rogue wave. It just happens. It can be a song, a special place, a little child playing with her grandmother at the park, walking past a toy section, or just a memory suddenly slides into my subconscious and all I can think about is the tremendous hole that now fills my life. I can be having coffee with a friend and laughing one minute, and find my eyes filling with tears the next. And that’s okay. In fact, it just brings my two missing children and my grandchildren closer to me for that moment. 

The beauty of the human spirit is that we have a remarkable ability to continue on, even in the most adverse of conditions. But we will always mourn our children and our grandchildren in estrangement. Our memories of them are all we have. 

A mother’s love is forever, but for those of us whose love has been rejected, our grief is always there too.

In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was within me an invincible summer  (Albert Camus)

Dear Michael.

Dear Michael

You won't remember me, but I remember you.

I was there when you came into the world, I held your mother's hand and it was a special time between us. We sort of knew you would be her last baby, and we wanted to cherish every second of your entrance into our lives.

You were such a big miracle for such a little boy.

I didn't know it then but I would never have a good chance to get to know you. 

You live far away now and I have not heard you talk, or sing, or laugh.  I have not watched you get on a tricycle, play on the beach, argue with your big sister, or discover new things. 

How will your little voice sound when you say your first words, and what will those words be?

I had looked forward to sitting in a rocking chair and reading to you, making up funny parts,  taking you to feed the birds like I did with your sister, baking cookies with all your favorite things in them, burping the alphabet, blowing big gum bubbles, and playing building blocks, having the most fun when we knocked them all down and made lots of noise.

But I know you through pictures.

I know already that you are kind, funny, sensitive, interesting, and a ball of fire.

Who knows what the future holds for you?

Will you know me one day? Will you know your Aunty Emelia and Emma, and Uncle Ethan and Eysiah?

Will you take after my father,, will you have my sense of humor or your grandfather Jim's love of history? What will you be like as you grow? What will you look like?  With what types of talents and abilities has God blessed you? What great things might you accomplish? Who will you marry? Will I be around to see you grow into adulthood and have a family of your own? I certainly pray that I do. 

I will write to you from time to time, on this blog. I hope you will find it one day. 

I want you to know that nobody is perfect, and people make mistakes, But forgiveness is one of the most important things you should have in your heart. And faith. And kindness. Treat others as you would want to be treated. And have fun whenever you can.

Hate is easy, love takes courage. It takes guts to be gentle and kind, especially for boys and men.

Please learn about the “God Stuff”, it really works, trust me.

Your mom made a wish  and you came true.

I am always holding your hand, even if I am not there.

 And  please remember that no matter where you are in this big world and no matter what you are doing you can always count on me. I will endlessly love and support you.

Michael, my wish for you is that this life becomes all that you want it to your dreams stay big and your worries stay small  and I hope you know that the grandmother you may not remember and may not know,is a good person who loves you and if I cannot be there in your life i will love you for the rest of mine.

                                               Your far away grandmother - Sian Thomson.

For my Caroline

Dear Caroline

You don't know me. I am your grandmother. I am your dad's mother. I held you once when your dad and mom returned to Campbell River shortly after you were born. You were so precious to me in a way none of my other grandchildren are because your dad being here is a miracle. So you are just as much of a miracle to me.

Your dad was born very early, at 30 weeks. He was only 3 pounds 1 ounce when he was born. He had a twin  brother who was not born alive. I tried very hard to make sure my babies stayed inside me for as long as possible so I had to stay in the hospital, far away from home. This was very hard for both me and your grandfather Jim but we did it. Parents will do anything for their children.

I consider the ten weeks I spent in hospital as a very special time for me and your dad. I would rub my stomach and talk to him and tell him to hang in there. I wanted to be a mother to your dad very much. He is my first born son. He looks like me. He is artistic like me.  We usually laugh at the same things.

I cannot see you now. This is not my choice but your dad is doing what he thinks is best for you. I think it is very complicated and I do not understand it. But I will always love you and your dad. You do not have to be together or see each other to care about each other. Family ties are very strong. You are a part of me. You are a part of your dad . You are my future.

You are the greatest gift my heart will ever know,  no matter how far, or for how long.

Remember me, remember you have another grandmother who holds half of your heritage in her memories and experiences. You are the result of thousands of people who loved each other.

I will write to you from time to time. These letters will be my visits with you.  I hope one day you find them.

Caroline, you are a miracle.  Since the beginning of the world there has never been and until the end of the world there will never be another child like you. I am proud to  be your grandmother.

If you want to know how much I love you count all the waves in the sea.

                            We may not have adventures together, but we can dream of them, can't we?

                                              Love from your other grandmother, Sian Thomson

A message for my granddaughter Carys.

I remember the first time I saw you. You were delivered into the world with your eyes wide open and you took my breath away. Oh how long I had waited with your mum to meet you. We knew you would be you long before you were even conceived. I do not think there has ever been a baby as wanted as you were. 

Your birthday will always be one of my favorite days, ever.
My soul grew as you entered the world, and I found myself believing in miracles. My baby had a baby, against all odds. You were meant to be here. Before you were here an hour, I knew I would do anything for you.

Don' tell anybody because it might hurt their feelings, but you are my favorite.

I built you a home in my heart. You made me happy when skies were gray.

I loved being your YaYa.  I was so proud of you. I wanted to give you everything. I wanted you to know about your family. You grandmother, your great grandmother, and everyone you came from. The time we had was the happiest of my life.

I remember the last time I saw you. It was Hallowe'en, 2012. I didn't know it would be the last time, and if I had, it would have taken  my breath away too.

 I tried very hard to see you again.I love you sweet girl. Your little face breaks my heart. You are spectacular.

You will always be my Carys, my granddaughter and nobody can take that away. You are inside my heart and I am inside yours.  I’m really sad that I won’t be getting to spoil you, or go sneak chocolate, or take you on ice cream dates, and eat chocolate pie and pudding and gum.. Laughing all the time at what your mommy and daddy would say if they knew what we were doing. I will probably miss your school concerts and dance recitals, your first awards, your art work that won't hang on my fridge, and I might not be there to answer questions you will have, that only your mom's mum can answer.. But what's meant to be will always find its way. That is where my hope and faith waits.

Carys, never forget how much I love you. I wish I could grab you from my dreams and hug you for real. Maybe some day we will get our chance.  I will always be with you, in the brightest days and the darkest nights, always and always. I wanted to know you for longer but it wasn't to be.

There is not a day that goes by that I don't, at some point, think of you.

                                         I love you to the moon and back.

                                                   Please do not forget me.

Once there was a baby star. She lived up near the sun. And every night at bedtime that baby star wanted to have some fun. She would shine and shine, and fall and shoot and twinkle oh so bright. And she said: "Mommy I´ll run away if you make me say Good Night!"

And then her mommy kissed her sparkly nose and said: "No matter where you go, no matter where you are, no matter how big you grow, and even if you stray far, I’ll love you forever, ‘cause you’ll always be my baby star."

Letting go.

My agonizing estrangement from my first born child.

So much has changed since you have been gone, and I keep thinking about this river somewhere, with the water moving really fast. And these two people in the water, trying to hold onto each other, holding on as hard as they can, but in the end it’s just too much. The current’s too strong. They’ve got to let go, drift apart.

It just hurts more now to hang on than to let go.

So I am gently letting you go and in doing so, I have to communicate it for our closure.

The truth is, unless you let go, unless you forgive yourself, unless you forgive the situation, unless you realize that the situation is over, you cannot move forward.

I need to move forward now. I am ready to move forward. You are my first stop on that journey.

I remember the day I brought you home from the hospital. I was changing your diaper and putting you into your “take home from the hospital” outfit. I was so nervous. I was sweating. I said to you “ I really don’t know what I am doing but I will always try my best.”

And I did.

You were my first everything.

I adored you. Parenthood does not come with a manual, you do it the best you can, with no intent to screw it up. Good faith is what you call it.

There are still lessons to learn.

One of them I have learned recently is to let go of things that you have already let  go.

Our hearts are in two different places now.

I will always be your mum. I will always be YaYa and am so grateful that I got to experience being a grandparent. I loved it! I will carry that with me forever. Those were probably the happiest times of my life, so far.

But I know I have happy times waiting for me, they are there calling for me.

I love you, and I want you to be happy, I want you to have the life you deserve. And if that means … if that means I have to stand here and watch you walk away, then I’ll do it. I have done it. Because that is what you really need.

I didn’t know what I was doing when I became your mother but I always tried my best. Your happiness means everything to me. I will listen for your voice in the distance. I will look at the moon. I will keep you in my pocket. I will carry your smile with me everywhere.

But I have to let you go now. You were the star that fell from the sky and into my hands. It seeped through my veins and swam inside my blood and became every part of me. But then I had to put the star back in the sky. It is the most painful thing I have ever done or will ever have to do.

But I promised you I will try my best.

That is my best.

I know you are safe because your dad is there and I know he will always be there for you if you need help.

I know Carys and Michael are safe because they have you.

That is all I need to know.

Be happy.

I will see you, from time to time, under the pale moonlight.

My star.

Always love you

Mum

ps “She had hope in her heart but after a while, with each step forward, hope stepped back. And for the first time in months, the first time ever, she began to weep, and as she did she knew that with the retreat of hope her heart had finally caught up with her head. And as each tear spilled over she let them go, she was letting go.”

My Eddie, My Favorite.

Eddie was the most annoying dog I have ever had.

Not the greatest way to start off a eulogy.

But when I say annoying, I actually, probably mean  I adored him, yes he could be aggravating, but I admired him more than anything. He was just here to be noticed. He was here to be in charge. And he was not shy about getting his point across.

He screamed if you tried to take him for a ride in the car. Not howled, not cried, not high pitched bark, screamed like a little girl, or a mousaphobe clamoring for the nearest chair to stand on. He had the loudest bark I have ever heard and served to encourage any other of my dogs to join in...he was the conductor of chaos, the instigator of insolence, the bane of my existence. 

And it's my daughter's fault that I had him with me for the past 15 years. The daughter who poo-poos "dog people" and always demands my latest dog count when she phones me to check in. And when I lie, she has the nerve to cross examine me. Then Eddie usually barks at nothing, sets the other 5 off, and she wants to get off the phone because she doesn't approve. Good dog Eddie, good boy.

My daughter Emelia was 8 when she started volunteering at a local pet store in town. One day she came home and told me there was a litter of the "cutest puppies ever" and I had to go down and see them. Now, telling me to go look at some puppies, or even a dog that needs a home, is very reckless if you then intend to become a poo-poo'er of dog people and hold my 8 dogs against me. I am not a "lets think about it" person. 

 I went down, saw him sleeping in a laundry basket with his litter mates, and because he was the ugliest, I brought him home with me. 

Eddie cuddling with "my favorites"...Pierre, Vinny and Chevy (circa 1999)

                                                                   

My first introduction to Eddie's vocal ability was when I tried to hide the 7 week old fatso from my ex-husband, for no reason other than I didn't feel like getting the "what-are- you- thinking-this-better-not-be-where-my-child-support-is-going-to" speech.  (Actually your kids need shoes....Eddie ate the other ones.) Eddie was sequestered to  back room and I was almost in the clear when he started a rant that seemed impossible to be able to come out of a puppy so small.  It was a full-throated, robust baritone similar to Tom Jones belting out Resurrection Shuffle.  I was busted. I got the speech, but a several years later Eddie evened things up by taking a run at my ex every time he left the house. He always went for the ankle or the calf. My ex tried very hard to be cool and collected but when he heard the galloping weiner dog gaining on him, he would lose some of his macho decorum by speeding up his step and never letting the door hit him in the ass on his way out.

Good dog Eddie, good boy.

Eddie liked food, sex, and to walk around as if he owned the place.

He fathered a couple of litters, and always had an eye for the ladies. All he really needed other than his testicles which were removed against his will, was a smoking jacket and cravat.

He loved all food except dog food.

He ate a whole lemon meringue pie once. 

He got fat.

So fat that he could not get up onto his bed (actually my bed) anymore and although he could get down with no problem, usually to have a mid night snack with a water chaser, he would wake me up to get him back up on the bed.  

Bark. Sigh, Bark, longer sigh.  Bark. Whine, Bark and whine together. 

Eddie go away.

Bark, higher pitched.

Staying half asleep on purpose I would hoist myself up on one elbow and pat the side of the bed so he could get close enough that I could vault him up onto the bed.

He would then develop a fear of heights and run away.

Five minutes later, I am back asleep.

Bark. Bark whine sigh in a combo. Bark higher pitched.

Eddie shut up.

Bark louder.

Eddie shut up louder.

Dog shaming

                                                                          

Whine, whine, inhale and whine (creates a higher and more annoying pitch) then he would progress to a bagpipe cry like he is sobbing while being shaken (believe me it did cross my mind) so I would ultimately throw the covers back saying "fine" with heavy emphasis on the "f" for effect, throw my feet over the side and get up to go pick him up and put him back on the bed. But I would have to catch  him because now he was hiding under the bedside table acting like he was regularly beaten.

 Then, after placing him on the bed,  it was a race between me and him to get back into my place on the bed.  Repeat in about 2 hours. I thought I was brilliant and bought a set of stairs to go up to the bed. It appears in addition to his fear of the car, fear of water, fear of being picked up by the armpits, fear of me getting out of bed enunciating the word "FFFFine",  he also had a fear of going up doggy stairs. There was fifty bucks down the drain which I wish I had because he did like to pee on them.

He had his favorites  in my pack of 10 - always and only the ladies. He hated any male dogs....hated them. I had a cool game I would play that really entertained people. I would pet Eddie and get him sucked into the undying attention thing and then say "Oooh Eddie, Pierre is my favorite." (Pierre was one of several of my male dogs - all lovers not fighters) He would start this low growl. Then if I patted the chair or bed beside him as if i was calling Pierre over "Pierre oh Pierre is my favorite come here Pierre" in my best coochy-coo tone,  Eddie would go ballistic and practically froth at the mouth. Then  I would step it up and say "Oh Eddie, Pierre and Chevy are my favorites,  (growling magnifies) then I would throw in Sophie is my favorite (silence) Missy and Jessica are my favorites..silence, no reaction, then I would throw in Pierre or Chevy to the middle of the list of females..he would react every time one if any male was mentioned. Maybe you had to  be there, but it was hilarious. Even after Chevy and Pierre passed away, I could still say their names in the context of being my favorite and he would growl. 

When he wanted to come in from outside, after all being outside is for dogs....he would lick the window. It freaked us out. He would just keep doing it. Repulsive looking. Sometimes he would press his nose against the window so you would get a full meal deal, nostrils splayed open, some snot flying and his tongue out in all its glory pressed against the window like a piece of ham.

Let me in !!

We always wanted to get a film of him and send it to funniest home videos but we never quite got around to it.

Whenever I came  home, be it from taking the garbage out for 3 minutes, from work, from a movie, he would greet me like I had been away in Europe for a year. It was ridiculous. Once when I had been in the hospital for a week I came home and I actually thought he was the one needing my post op sedation because he was trying to crawl inside my body, he could not get close enough, he was hyperventilating. Even the other dogs stopped saying hello just to step back and watch the show. I think they were embarrassed for him.

 Eddie left no doubt who the love of his life was. 

He was once hit by a car, well, actually he is the one who hit the car. He bounced off the wheel and lay there pretending to be dying. I was beside myself. Then I realized he was concentrating more on me continuing to rub his portly belly than faking death.  He survived with nothing more than a fat lip and I am not joking.  A FAT lip. 

 During this incident, I apparently was heard by my children to refer to him as "My Eddie." They never, ever let me live this down. You see, for the most part I loved to complain about him. I thought our love affair was a secret. But my disrespectful children would always interrupt any complaint I was making with a sarcastically toned 'Oh Myyyyyyyy Eddie." To this day I deny ever using that term of endearment.

One of our favorite times in a life that was so busy with work and children and single parenthood, was when I had some solitude, of course on the toilet, and he would come in and jump on my knee and I would blow in his face and he pretended to hate it, he would grit his teeth in a cheesy smile, but he always came back for more.

Eddie laying on my shoes in the kitchen, his "nephew" Willy was his shadow.

He started to fail a few months ago. He was deaf I think. I saw a cloud over his eyes that always tells when a dog is coming to the end of his journey on earth. He slept a lot. He wasn't quite as bossy but he was still loud. He always ended up where I was despite his loss of hearing and vision.  

I just could not rationalize a character who was such an extrovert, so loud and obnoxious, the 'boss", who had been with me through my divorce, my health scares including two strokes, job loss, poverty, family turmoil, grief, catching my tears on his neck during those times I cried quietly but he was right there, who had been with me from the age of 38 to 53, could possibly disappear from my life. 

My poor old boy.

I had a hard time waking him up once and I took him right up to the vet. I knew something was terribly wrong because he stayed calm in the car. The vet thought that maybe he had a seizure. He also noticed a lump on his chest that I had not seen before. He said it was probably cancer, but given his age there was not much they could do. He said it appeared to be slow growing and he would probably pass from old age first.

He stopped eating a few days ago. He looked a little confused.  He was having problems standing. But he was not suffering. I know this for sure. If he was I would have taken him to the vet. In an instant. He rallied for a day and a night.

His last night with me,  I cuddled with him on the bed and rubbed his tummy and reminisced, out loud, about all our times together.  I talked about Pierre and Chevy and he didn't flinch but I swear his heart rate went up a little. I told him I loved him and was so happy he had been my dog. He knew I was there with him. He put his paw on my hand and weakly pushed it down.....to rub his tummy.

He passed fairly quickly. It was very uncharacteristic of Eddie to do something so dramatic without being dramatic at all.

I think he died quietly because he had used up all his energy on earth. I think his soul was tired. I think he was at peace knowing he had made a difference in our world.  He had been a huge presence in our family. He will always be a huge presence in my heart.

He will be one of the ones, when you reminisce,  you always start with "Remember when ..." and a smile comes over your face. 

My Eddie. He was my favorite. Forever and ever.

Eddie Thomson  April 9, 1998 - October 2, 2013.

Last goodbye.