Always a mom

 Life seems to be a series of stages, one after another, characterized by changing relationships. One pattern, the one I’m most familiar with, starts out with a single baby in intimate dependence on its mother, a gradual growth out of dependency, followed by blessed independence (!), and then marriage (an interdependence at best), motherhood (reversed dependence), up through the empty nest and a new freedom as persons in our own right. Then we end up again dependent on others for the slow journey to the end of life.

Only that’s a little too neat and orderly. My own life seems more mixed and messy, without a clear transition from one stage to the next.

Take motherhood, for example. Now that my kids are grown and with grown children of their own (and soon to be grandparents, amazingly enough), my raising/nurturing/disciplining tasks should be long over. And, indeed, they are, thank God. But it doesn’t always feel that way. While no one calls me “Mommy” any more (again, thank God), I still sometimes feel a keen sense of responsibility and a need to protect. I still have a compulsion to stand between my daughter or son and any real or imagined monster that would threaten them. I want to exchange my safety for their peril. My health for their illness.

I sometimes still wake up in the night with a nightmare of some threat to their well-being. I find it harder to pray with faith when one of them faces danger than I do to pray with faith for peace in Ukraine. And that’s ridiculous!

Today, in mid-January, the houses, trees and hills outside my window are covered in white. The first snow of the season always amazes me with its beauty. But beauty isn’t the first word people use to describe the snow this year. It’s slippery and dangerous outside. And more so in the mountains where my daughter and her family live.

On Saturday it wasn’t snow; it was freezing rain that fell all day and stuck to the trees surrounding their house on the McKenzie River Road. Electricity went off in the morning and a downed tree blocked their long driveway up the hill. That night as the temperature dipped and the winds blew, Kristin, her husband Jon, and their son Peter huddled all night in the living room, listening to the sound of tree branches cracking and falling.

By morning, branches had broken through the ceilings in a bathroom, the hall, and their dining room. The front porch and back deck were damaged and the yard a tangle of fallen trees and branches. The largest tree on their property, a giant Douglas fir, had completely toppled.

They were blocked in most of Sunday by the downed tree. Some friends met them at the bottom of their driveway and took them home for showers and a hot meal. Jon and Kristin elected to go back to their house to spend last night, partly for the sake of their animals (two large dogs, three cats, and a tortoise), and partly to take care of their house and keep the water system working. Hal and I were awake, off and on, all night praying and worrying (which did a lot of good, I’m sure).

This morning they informed us they had made it through the night with no adventures. Even the cats came out of hiding and slept on top of Kristin. Today it’s still a world of ice outside and extremely cold, although sunny. Electricity is still off. The danger has not passed. Quite a few trees around the property could still fall, and tomorrow the forecast predicts more freezing rain.

The tree company just informed them that the cost of removing the trees that have already fallen on their roof and property comes to $13,000. They were planning on staying another night but Kristin just texted, “We are really needing to consider getting out of here as we were told by the tree company that it may get worse. It’s just so complicated with the animals. Jon may be realizing the trailer, boat, water system, and house just may not be worth keeping.”

Even if nothing else happens to the house, it will take several months at least to repair the damage. They’ll have to work out the details with their insurance company and find a place to rent in the meantime.

So why am I going into all this detail? It’s because it feels like it’s happening to me. If it’s happening to one of my kids, it’s happening to me. I don’t know if every “old” mother feels like this, but I suspect many of you do. I don’t even know if I should feel like this. Maybe it’s a sign that I haven’t matured enough to pass on to the next life stage. But I need to recognize that this is where I am so that I can face it.

Once a mother, always a mother, I guess. At least in the sense of deep empathy and a sharing in bearing the emotional burden. Maybe that’s not so bad.

Meanwhile, tomorrow is another day, with its own dangers, blessings, and answers to prayer.

(I’ll let you know how this story plays out in a future installation.)