My Son

I have tried so hard to not "label" my children.  But I am afraid it is inevitable.  When asked about my children I often describe Stephen as the athletic one and Allie as the musical one.  This doesn't mean that Stephen has no musical  ability or Allie has no athletic ability.  Allie has always been the one totally devoted to school and good grades and Stephen has always been totally devoted to being the best in baseball.  But I hope that I have conveyed to them that these are descriptions and not judgements on who they are.  Because as we all know, as we grow, those descriptions change.

That has happened in Stephen's life in the last year and it has been miraculous to watch.  As a young boy, Stephen had a passion for throwing and catching balls and writing stories.  He was creative not only with stories but with making up games with balls.  One of our favorites was "This and That".  Don't ask me to describe it, I still don't understand the rules.  "That's okay, Mommy, I will wait for Daddy,"  was often said at our house after a few rounds of This and That.  Stephen also wrote incredible stories and was quite prolific.  I was thrilled that his Kindergarten, First and Second Grade teachers encouraged this creativity and didn't try to harness it into a formula.  Unfortunately by third grade we had moved to a state that had the "WRITING" test in 4th grade.  I am not sure I can describe the sorrow and pain I felt as I watched the creativity being squashed in my talented little boy.  I was devastated.  I was an educator for god's sake.  I knew better...but I had to sit by and watch.  I tried to continue encouraging his writing, but his confidence was taken away and a greater passion was taking over, baseball.  For the next several years I watched as my son's joy and confidence in academics ebbed away.  Finally in 9th grade he had a teacher who sealed the tomb on Stephen's academic interest.  At the same time, Stephen's passion and talents in baseball flourished.

The baseball field was the one place I could see him hold himself with confidence and surety.  It was beautiful to watch, because we all want to see our children happy and confident.  He went off to college to play baseball and once again I had to witness the killing of my son's dreams.  He had a coach who basically took Stephen's dreams away by tearing down his confidence and self-esteem.  But, my son was stronger than that.  He knew he was more than that.  He stood up and spoke up for himself and declared that after the summer, baseball would be over.

Honestly we all feared what would come next.  Stephen didn't see himself as we saw him, a smart kid.  Now he didn't  have baseball.  What would happen?  What came next is still miraculous to us.  My son woke up and found himself.  He found that boy of 5,6 and 7 who loved to read and write. He found his love of thinking and asking questions.  My son has become the academic that Jack and I always knew was inside him.

Getting a phone call telling us about a fantastic professor he has is exhilarating.  Looking at his Christmas list and finding several books and none of them about sports, it is amazing.  Seeing the sparkle in his eyes once again is more precious than gold.

There are many more adjectives that pertain to Stephen. He is much more than those adjectives.  He is an amazing young man who is beginning his journey as a man.  I am honored to be his mother and have a front row seat to the miraculous life he is living.  I only pray that he knows I see him as more than what he does, I see him.  My boy.  I see his heart which is gold.  All the rest is just gravy.

Miracles

Growing up, my mom always told the stories of our births as miracles.  She conceived Kip, my older brother, with her uterus turned inside out.  It was a miracle that he was born.  When I was born, it was a miracle that we both lived.  She was told she would never have anymore children after me, so when she conceived Kade, my younger brother, seven years later, well, it was a miracle!  So growing up we were told that we were miracles that God had given to her to raise and love.  Little did we know that we too, would get a miracle from God.  These memories were brought forth today in the form of a brown package.

My doorbell rang this morning and there was some confusion getting to the door only to find that no one was there.  As I walked away, I noticed the UPS truck driving off, so I went back to the door and found a package on my porch.  I knew this was from my mom and contained 2 small gifts for the kids, something my mom wanted to give Allie and my birthday gift.  I was a bit befuddled by the latter, as we don't do birthday gifts for adults anymore.

I opened the box and checked that everything was there.   Next, with Jack looking over my shoulder I opened my birthday present.  Inside were my mother's wedding ring and the dinner ring she had made out of my Grandmother Riley's first wedding ring.  (I say first because Clovis was married 4 times in all.)  I was stunned.  This was the last thing I expected to find in this little box.  I couldn't understand why.

I called my mom, she asked that I call the minute I got the box, now I realize why!  I began to cry. So many thoughts.  Why was she giving me these now?  What did this mean?  Was she foreseeing her death?  What was going on?  But the reason was quite simple.  Her hands have become so arthritic that she can no longer wear the rings.  So she wanted to be able to give them to me now and see me enjoy them.

But, there is something eery about wearing these rings.  My hands suddenly look more like my mom's than mine.  They bring memories of holding her hands and twirling her rings.  Taking them off and trying them on.  They bring memories of hospitals where I sat twisting these rings around my fingers waiting impatiently for her to emerge from surgery.

My mom and I are best friends.  We talked on the phone at LEAST once a week.  Then about 6 years ago, mom stopped making sense on the phone.  She sounded drunk.  She talked of falling.  She talked of bruises.  She talked of not knowing where she was.  I went to her and brought her home with me.  That began the hardest period of my life.  Over that 6 months, I slowly grieved the loss of my best friend.  There were no more long talks about her life, my kids, decorating, life.  She was a shell of a woman.  Then a miracle happened.  She woke up.  As if from a dream, or nightmare.   She went back to Texas, and slowly, gradually has become whole.

Yet, just recently have she and I begun to talk once a week again.  It has taken me almost 5 years to trust that my mom is really here.

And now she has entrusted me with her wedding ring and the diamonds my Pop gave my grandmother. I will take in all the memories, joyous and painful, and will wear these rings with great pride.

These rings will remind me of the miracle that is my mom.