Thinking back on the last 19 years with Sam brings up a lot of different pictures in my mind. Like the silly times trying to get her in the car seat, and her wiggling out of the straps. Or the happy times at the playground, pushing her on the swing and seeing her smile. I remember the excitement when we went to Disneyland, and she got to talk to Eeyore and Cinderella. I’m so proud of how she always looked out for her brother, helping him at school and being a good friend to others and the way she took pride in herself at doing so, and valued the connections. I loved watching her play soccer, cheering her on when she scored a goal or made a great pass. And I’ll never forget how excited (and maybe a little nervous) she got when she landed a part in one of the school plays.
I think about the role I have played in the past as a Mother. What I’ve actually done and what I aspire to be. I want to say I’ve grown a little bit the last few years and tried to be more empathetic. My role has certainly changed from what I picture of a hustler of activities. Checking the boxes on what activities she needed to be at, what parties she would attend – if the birthday presents were purchased and cards were hand-written – all the Girl Scout activities we planned out. There was reflection time and a time for teaching, certainly. I remember giving her access to her phone, and I would sit on her bed for 10 minutes at night going through Instagram with her, and talking about what people were posting. Discussing what was wrong and right with social media. Oh, the horrible and nasty texts she would get from friends – we would have lots of long talks about that. (I still have a full Shutterfly album dedicated to one of those fights – I’m still mad about it.)
I look back to 11 years ago where I talked about sending her to summer camp. I still stand by my thoughts of building resilience, of trying new things, and being brave. And DAMN, if she is not ALL of those things. Times one hundred. I am so impressed with her resilience right now.
The times we would sit down and talk about colleges. Visit colleges, even! The excel lists I helped her start, the discussions about what it would be like to live in dorms, the classes she needed to take to get there.
A quote from a friend saying, “Little kids, little problems.. Big kids, big problems!” always resonates in my mind. It goes from health, wellness, and sleep habits, to homework and social structures, to driving and curfew, and alcohol and drugs.
It does escalate quickly.
I’m grateful for many things, and in some ways, I’m even thankful that Covid limited social gatherings during Sam’s early high school years. However, this recent medical situation has been incredibly stressful. As my Mom would say, we’ve all been feeling off because we’re worried about Sam.
The last 24 hours was hard. I don’t want to go into too much detail here but it was a lot for Sam, and as emotions are contagious, it was a lot for me. It’s those moments sometimes where I triage or prioritize what needs to happen and then I remind myself that I should go the extra mile.
Sam was feeling overwhelmed and wanted to go to JJ’s house, which is an hour away (compared to the 90-120 minute drive back to our home). I directed her on what to do, called my mom to confirm, and then realized that I needed to be there for her in person. Even if it was just for a few minutes, I wanted to give her a hug and offer my support. So, I drove down to see her.
And that led to the obvious step of taking her back home for the night. We were waiting for a medical package to be delivered early the next morning and I would have driven it down anyway, so I would drive her and the package back in the morning.
I felt better seeing her face. Even if it was tear-stained, exhausted, and defeated. I’d like to think that me being there helped her, as evidenced by the long hug we shared.
But even more than that, the next morning there were more challenges. There was a level of exhaustion, of overwhelmingness, and sadness. And as we sat on the floor, I tried to be present. I was present. I wanted to be what she needed in that moment.
And I think I was what she needed. And I was who I wanted to be too. We sat in that tough moment together, and then I got to support her. She was able to articulate a little of what she needed, even if it was tentative and unsure.
And it meant that I had a 3.5h drive ahead of me. And it was all for 10 minutes of work. But that 10 minutes was exactly what she needed.
And I got a very heartfelt ‘Thank you’ from her. A long hug. Validation in the words of, ‘You were right, I do feel better now that it’s all fixed up.’ And a text message later that night of another ‘Thank you’ and ‘That meant a lot’.
She’s now calm. Where she needs to be. While things aren’t perfect, she was able to get through the difficult moment and get back to her reality. And she knows that she can count on me to be there, and drive all the miles, even if it just means 10 minutes of clapping my hands, moving mattresses, and doing what she couldn’t or wasn’t ready to do.
And I know I can show up when it counts. That I might not always make the right decision at the perfect moment, but I’m an amazing mother and friend and try to do the right thing, and it worked out this time.
When I got home, I was looking forward to resting. My 2nd child was having a minor meltdown (for him anyway), and I said to myself, I can either go upstairs and let him figure it out. Or I can tell him that I’ll sit here and help him. Do I know anything about math? No, I do not. But I sat there (and asked AI a few times) and was able to keep asking him questions and get him working so he was out of his slump and on a good cadence to figuring out his math essay. Yes, essay. I don’t know what that is either!
But I’m proud of both of those moments.
And when I think back to years ago as how I’ve evolved from scheduling events and ensuring all the gifts were purchased… to now, being present, offering support, and guiding them through all these crazy challenges they are facing.
Those short moments with Sam were so impactful. Ten minutes on the floor of our room. Ten minutes lifting incredibly heavy mattresses from top bunks to bottom bunks. A half-hour being present for the random math questions that G was frustrated by. These moments, though short, are invaluable.
They are the moments I cherish most as a mother and I’m so grateful to experience them with my children.
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