My Mamafesto

A few years ago, a friend gave me a book called Mothers Who Think and in the past week I've been reading some of my favorite essays from the book. It's summer and I'm alone now and so I've had plenty of time to think about being a mother, and what that means to me.

When he was very little, JT used to call us "the mommy guys" and it always made me smile. It was if he understood that we were a parenting unit, a team. One of the best things about sharing JT with Lisa was the pride that we jointly took in our boy. He was often funny, and we were proud of that and loved to share those stories. We were proud when he mastered a new skill. I still remember the smile we exchanged when he read his first word. I was always most proud when he was kind-hearted.

There is no sharing now, of course. I think that Lisa might welcome it if I shared stories about JT with her, but I don't. I can't right now because it just hurts too much to try and share my son with someone who so clearly wanted out of our family, with someone who left. Somehow, it would feel like I was seeking her out, seeking her solace. But having caused the pain he and I feel, she's not the person who can help us heal. So I share the stories with my family and friends, I share them here in the blog, and I keep them in my journal.

I know that he feels hurt by her absence, but I don't know what to tell him. Usually I say that Mommy's heart wasn't happy and that she moved to a new place to help her heart to be happy. It feels like such an inadequate explanation. The other day, we were talking about his family, and how he thinks about us. JT practices doing this, though he has only told one person that his Mommy has gone. He guards that fact so carefully.

It was the first time he had articulated to me just what has happened to him. "I live with my Mama," he said, and then he paused and added, "but my dog Sam lives with my Mommy. They left us." I felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs when he said this. But I didn't cry, I just said what I have always told him, "Mama and Mommy love you very much."

In that moment, it was suddenly clear to me what it means to be a mother. It means that you are a steady presence in your child's life, there for the good and the bad, the happy and the sad, to share the triumphs and ease the pain. Being a mother happens in daily events of life built by and shared with one another. That's what it means to me anyway. And each morning when I see his first sleepy smile of the day I think to myself, I wouldn't trade the job for anything in the world. So that's what I know about being a mama: each and every day, I will savor his smile and love my boy with all my heart.