The Storm of Motherhood

I had conversations with two different people today. Seemingly unrelated, I was aware of a poignant commonality: motherhood. The first conversation was with a woman very dear to me, about to give birth for the first time, her motherhood journey just beginning. She is filled with anticipation, wonder, a bit of anxiety, and an immense amount of Love, as one would expect. Her very world is about to shift on its axis in a profound and inexplicable way. Changed forever, her son will be the center of her world, dominating and consuming her thoughts and actions.

The second conversation was with a man in his late fifties. It was a getting to know you conversation, as we had just met. We shared about our lives and the topic of our parents came up. Mine having passed away a few years ago, his still alive. I spoke of the aging, death and dying process, a passion topic of mine since my parents’ passing. He told me that his mother has mid-stage Alzheimer’s. I asked how often he sees his parents. “Not very often” was his reply. In fact, he hasn’t seen them in fifteen years.

As we said our goodbyes and I made my way home, something began to stir inside of me. As I connected the, perhaps to some, most even, unobvious dots, my heart started to hurt. You see, motherhood is and has always been tremendously sacred to me. A topic I have written much about over the years. I have written that in the eighties. in a sea of young women who could finally be whatever they wanted to be, all I ever wanted to be was a mother. I have written about mothering my three sons ad nauseum. I have written about my difficult relationship with my own mother, and about her aging, dying and my grief process. The passion I have for motherhood grows even as my own motherhood journey is shrinking.

What struck me about these two conversations, these two people, one about to have a son and one having been a son for nearly sixty years – is this thread of motherhood. How consuming and life altering motherhood is in the beginning, and how almost non-existent, less than a whisper, it can be towards the end. And, well, my heart broke a little bit for this man’s mother, and others like her. How many must there be? Mothers who, with their own bodies, carried and nourished babies they now have little to no relationship with.

I am squarely in the middle of these two mothers, my own sons young adults now. The waning and waxing of motherhood is like a long slow beautiful and violent storm. Anticipating and preparing for motherhood, takes the place of activities and thoughts previously important, just like preparing for a hurricane might. And in the midst of the storm, we focus on the storm, what adjustments we need to make. It consumes us, just like having a child does. And then when the storm is over and the excitement and drama with it, the clouds have parted and the sun shines, there is the aftermath, the clean-up.

Truly I am not saying that having children is like surviving a hurricane in a disastrous way as if motherhood is something bad. But and also, I am saying that it ravages a woman - body, mind, and soul. And when motherhood is over, truly over, well it can be terribly lonely.

I often wonder, when the media is all abuzz about a storm coming, and then in the midst of the storm they report every minute with updates and the latest tragedy, then there is the reporting of the aftermath and destruction, and then they pull up and leave that town still with many days and months to recover ahead. But the recovery part isn’t sexy or dramatic or worth reporting on. And so, we leave that town and turn to the next exciting story.

This is a little what the aftermath of motherhood feels like. Once the conductor of a fantastic epic, planning birthdays and holidays, making lunches, planning family vacations, attending thousands of baseball practices and games, attending plays, PTA meetings, helping with homework, bandaging cuts and bruises, administering medicine when they are sick, tending to broken hearts, and on and on and on. Then one day it is just sort of over. There is no standing ovation, no ticker tape parade, no trophy, no praise for a job well done, no retirement party. There is just nothing where there once was a veritable circus.

And so, my heart breaks for the mother of this man in his late fifties who hasn’t seen her son in more than a decade. How common I fear this is. It feels so wrong to my big mama heart. And my heart breaks a little for this sweet mama to be – though she has many, many years and miles before she even knows this heartbreak. And my heart brakes for myself – though I have wonderful relationships with my adult sons, I mourn the days of active motherhood.

I suppose this is just the way it is. But and also, does it have to be? Can’t we do better or at the very least acknowledge this rich and fantastical journey of motherhood with its high highs and its low lows?

This contemplation becomes complicated for those of us, me included, who have had difficult, painful even, relationships with our mothers. And who among us does not feel the mother wound at least somewhat? Our relationship with our mother is the very first relationship we ever have. Setting the stage, one could argue, for all other relationships. This is a topic all on its own worthy of a thousand or more words but needs to be mentioned here.

So, can we Love, care for and about a mother who was less than what we needed? Can we appreciate, at the very basest level, that she indeed grew us in her belly and birthed us? Is that alone not worthy of something, something more than no relationship at all? I think so. Might it be difficult, painful, frustrating, maddening even? Yes, of course. But and also, motherhood itself is volunteering for, thrusting ourselves into many years of all things beautiful and difficult. And while perfect reciprocity is not something I believe exists in nature, and what is more natural than motherhood, I do think, believe, hope even that children all of us might be willing to honor and give care and Love in return.

Here’s to all the mothers out there, wherever you are in your motherhood journey I salute you, throw a little confetti and an enormous hug in your general direction.

Tracey Lee
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