Mother’s Day 2022

Mother’s Day is overfull with emotions for me. I feel deep love for my son, the beloved pets I’ve taken care of, my patient husband who made this rich life possible. Many bits and pieces fit together to create this Mother that I am. Including my own. I had a patchy relationship with my mother, to put it mildly.

Circumstances in my mother’s life made her pregnancy a less than blissful event. In short, I was not in her plans. Yet, I was born and needed care and she provided it. For the first 5 months, I was fed, clothed, and held as needed. When my mother took off to begin the rest of her life, she handed me to her mother to take over. After all, my Oma had raised 6 children and could probably handle one more. My memories of living with Oma are warm, filled with security.

For the first five and a half years of my life, I didn’t consciously know my mother. The Christmas before my sixth birthday, she showed up at our front door, arms laden with gifts. Two of these, a steel-rimmed red scooter, and a Fury horse with wheels on his feet, are emblazoned in my mind as treasures I adored. I don’t remember how I felt about my mother, or the man who was to adopt me, an American Army officer. I do remember the confusion and fear I felt when told that this man and my mother were to marry and we would become a family. Surely I was excited, too, because I had a deep desire to be part of a whole, which to me translated into a mother and father.

We adapted in the years ahead, but not easily and not well. I lacked a connection with my mother; the bonding so essential had not happened. I always felt a gap between us and maintained an inner isolation that affected all my relationships. The army deployed us to different countries every couple years which made it difficult to make and maintain friendships. At eighteen I married my best friend and tried to be a wife, but failed.

Fast forward many years…I married again and soon found myself pregnant. An onslaught of hormones and maternal instincts kicked in. Overwhelmingly so. I stayed awash in endorphins and felt fabulous throughout my pregnancy.

My water broke at 2:00 am on a Sunday morning, two weeks after my due date. I had woken up and hauled my immense belly into the living room to sit up and breathe. Immediately a long sustained cramp took my breath away and I stumbled into the bedroom to waken my husband. On the short ride to the hospital, I clutched the door and decided that the natural birth classes my husband and I had attended were hogwash. Upon our arrival I demanded an epidural. My pain, and contractions, eased. Twelve hours later, the doctor determined that my pushing was not working; the baby’s heart beat was dropping and I needed a Caesarean immediately. In the rush to the OR, I felt fear like never before. It wasn’t until my baby’s first lusty cry filled the room that I relief and joy took over.  And the love that flooded me and filled me was unparalleled.

For three days we snuggled in our private hospital room, staring at each other. I had never felt this kind of connection to anyone. I devoted my entire being over to this tiny beautiful creature who needed me so much. I knew my heart was not my own anymore. But it had grown so large that I knew there was enough to go around: to my husband, my friends, dogs, cats, and most of all, my mother.

Finally, I could try to understand her struggles. That she did the best she could. I thought about what I might have done, at the age of 23, with no plans to marry and a dream for a life that was more than she could have in a small town, with a limited education and no skills. Her opportunity to become a dancer and travel the world must have seemed like a lifeline. What would I have done? I honestly don’t know. My circumstances were different; the times were different.  Abortion was illegal in Germany when I was conceived. Had this been different, I might not have been born. I would not have given birth to my son. And that would have been a travesty. Now I’m glad my mother made the choices she did.

Chances and choices. We cannot know the consequences they will have, we can only do the best we can. And now I have a connection with my mother, thanks to my son. He taught me that love can be large enough to understand, and to forgive.

More reading: The Stranger in Unleash Press Conversations Anthology