Maternal Bonds

My idea of roughing it is when it takes three rings to get room service on the phone.

-- Joan Rivers


The night before I was set to fly to Phoenix to reunite with my parents post-quarantine, I got a call from my brother telling me our Mom had cancer.

As I face down the loss of my Mom who has been my rock, I can’t help but assess all of my relationships. I wish I could stop, but, I can’t. I’m incapable of remembering whether I washed my hair as I’m still standing in the shower, yet, I have an iron clad memory for those who have been reassuringly, extraordinarily, and/or unexpectedly kind and caring. I’m also keenly aware of those who are absent as I prepare for this loss. Taking relationship inventory under duress is my jam.

My son, Leo, is 14 years old. I don’t look for emotional support from my teenager. That is too heavy a burden for someone who is still coming into his own.

Because we are a family through adoption, (Leo came into our lives when he was two months old), I am sure he is perpetually considering his own bonds to other people. He has a biological mother who gave him up for adoption. He has a full sister 13 months older than he is whom he has never met. And because I was 48 when we became a family, I know he’s constantly doing math in his head, wondering how long he can count on my being around. Me, too.

After ending the cancer phone call, I howled. I didn’t know I could make those sounds. I'm soft-spoken. Turns out, I can register grief at Maria Callas volume. When I found Leo, he was frozen on our red sofa. I apologized for scaring him so and shared the news about Grandma. Along with an embrace, he whispered, “I love you, Mama.”

I packed for my early morning flight and collapsed in bed. Almost on cue, Leo quietly entered and brought me his baby blankie in a gesture of comfort. He then climbed into bed with me and proceeded to talk about his birth family. It’s like a lightning bolt cracked open his shell. He’s pretty tight lipped about his feelings towards them. It’s a given that I’m the one who maintains connection with his biological family. Leo claims to not want to know. I faithfully send e-cards to Amy (yes we share a name and a child) on his birthday -- the same week as Mothers Day, and on the day she placed him in my arms. We haven’t received a response in 9 years. I’m sure that  figures heavily into Leo’s mathematical equations. Thanks to Paperless Post, we know she opens the cards. She’s just across the river in Brooklyn, but, it’s like she’s on a different time and space continuum.

Leo is angry at her and he wanted me to know it. For the first time I can recall, he brought up his birth father. “WHAT’S UP WITH HIM?!!!” He dismisses them in a way only a teen ager can. “They lead insignificant lives…” Perhaps this is his way of reassuring me of his love by rejecting them at the top of his lungs. Or maybe he’s experiencing a serious loss (Leo and my Mom have epic chemistry together) and it’s got him thinking of that first primal loss. I’m grateful he’s opening up about it. We’re talking. Or he’s talking and I’m listening. His feelings are those to feel. I hold space for him and fill in the truth where ever I can.

We’ve been apart for 4 months while I'm caring for Mom in AZ and Leo is in NYC. We FaceTime, text, and send ridiculous Shapchats to each other. We connect in some way every day. Leo is so tenderly balanced between childhood and independence. When we are talking on our iphones, Leo brings out his crew of stuffed animals and parades them in front of the camera so I can call them out by name and recite their backstories that only he and I know.

I long to do the same thing with my Mom. Unpack all of those stories that only we share. The amount of time to do that is evaporating. Soon, I will hold those memories by myself. I cannot imagine this world without my Mom.

Leo starts high school tomorrow. I know the quality of our interaction will shift very soon. He’s not going to want to spend time with his Mom for much longer before he cuts the ties of my mad-cool vintage Etsy apron strings.

I realized that my connection to Leo should not be taking a back seat. The day after interviewing hospice services for my Mom, I got on a plane to come back home to launch Leo on his new chapter. I had wanted to take him on a trip somewhere, just the two of us, to make it extra special. However, time and energy are in short supply. What I did manage to book was an overnight glamping trip on Governors Island. A fancy tent tricked out with 2 beds made up in 1500 thread-count linens, a private bath, the Statue of Liberty, and Staten Island ferry all lit up outside our deck. We set the time to be together doing whatever we wanted. No pressure. Don’t want to ride bikes around the island? Don’t have to. Want to order your $40 steak well-done? Who am I to say no! Would you like another single malt neat? Why, yes I would. Leo brought his stuffed animals and we all spent the night at Camp Leo and Mama. We both fell asleep early and woke up thinking it was 6am. Turns out it wasn’t even midnight. So, we stayed up all night playing with his stuffed menagerie, talking about his love of transportation systems and I got to feel the other side of the maternal bond. I hope I’ll be present to unpack that memory with Leo many years from now.

As we were returning home on the ferry, Leo turned to me and asked in all seriousness, “Mama. Where can we buy those sheets?”

That’s my boy.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Chapter One: 40 Bowers

  Late in the afternoon of May 30, 2009, I stood poised in front of my childhood home, about to close the door to my family’s home of fifty years for the last time. I propped open the screen door with my right heel and reached into the front hall with my left hand to pull the heavy door closed. I glanced into the living room and took in the bare floors and empty space. That house was many things over the years, but empty was not one of them. To see it stripped down and naked felt inappropriate; I knew it was time to leave. There was nothing left for me there.  My elderly mother had passed weeks earlier, and I had a new husband standing by in Warsaw, Poland. The dog sat in the backseat of the  car, waiting for me to reverse out of the driveway to begin our new life. I sat in the driver's seat. To the left, stood the hedge I had delighted in pruning, first with a pair of clippers, and later, when I was older and braver, with electric trimmers. To the right was my mother’s r...
Read more

The Glaring -- Top of Chapter Three

Chapter 3 I got first oboe, which means I sit at the head of the row and pretty much lead the section.  There are only four oboists in the whole orchestra, so it isn’t that big of a deal, really, but I practiced super hard, and I’m relieved.  I would have been mortified to be beaten by a seventh grader. When we were in fifth grade, Mrs. Gallagher, the middle school music teacher, gave a presentation about all the different band and orchestra instruments kids could learn the next year.  One after another, she held them up, and then she played the chorus of that sappy song about hearts going on from the movie Titanic so we could hear how they sounded different from one another.  In the middle of the assembly, I realized that one single lady knew how to play all those instruments—from brass to woodwinds to strings.  Watching her, I felt like twenty different languages were floating around in her head all at once.  She knew how to speak trombone and viola and ...
Read more