I have always been intuitive which sometimes takes me on a ride because I feel that I can prevent things if I act early enough. Last night when Marko fell and cut his forehead, I instantly knew it was a big deal (not in a sense of him being in danger, but as something that required immediate and complete attention.) Luckily, my husband acted even more quickly, slapped a band-aid on his cut and got ready to take him to emergency. I stayed at home, powerless.
Trying to justify why part of me freaked out so badly about this event, I realized, in the past week, minus the holidays, I received a call from my older son Adrian’s school every day, once because he threw up and I needed to bring him home, second time because he was coughing and insisted to see the nurse, and today he was bit by another child and it broke his skin so they had to let us know and advise to call the pediatrician.
On one hand, I get it, it’s a first world problem, there are people who are battling issues and sicknesses with their children that can hardly compare. Yet, I cannot deny that my heart skips a beat every time I get a phone call from school that I don’t expect or I hear something thumble where I know my kids are. It’s an instant “fight” response for me and the one that provides me very little freedom to relax and just BE.
“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.”
This poem by Kahlil Gibran was a lot easier to understand and accept when I didn’t have children. I had a lot to say about how I would raise them and what kind of a mother I would be. In fact, for the longest time I had so much to say to my mother about mothering me, even though that is not my place. It’s humbling. Motherhood is humbling and it reaches deep into the places we didn’t think were there. It uncovers the darkness we feel inside and it exposes it. Children don’t do as we say, they mirror what we do. There cannot be anything more glaring for us about us than that.
All this to say, mothering is not for the faint of heart. We are not meant to be wonder women nor any other super heroes. We are meant to love them with all of our hearts but give them freedom to be their own people. If that means they will have a scar on their forehead or a bite on their shoulders, so be it. Control will not provide them much. I say this and I understand fully all of you controlling mothers out there because I belong to your club. And, I know, without a shadow of a doubt that this experience is transforming us into the people we are meant to become in this life time. We just have to keep bring awareness to it so we can keep flowing with life and not against it.