Dating : If You Want Your Mother to Know You Love Her, Tell Her Now

“A son’s a son ’til he gets a wife. A daughter’s a daughter all of her life.”
~Emily Griffin

I’ve seen these words played out again and again.

If an elderly parent is sick, it’s the daughter who takes care of them. This was not so in my family, but my brother is the exception to this rule. And yes, there are others.

My friends who have daughters have a best friend for life. No matter how contentious their relationship was growing up, they’ve bonded. And of course, now their grandchildren are giving their mother’s crap.

History repeats and it’s every mother’s dream, at some point, that their difficult child one day has an offspring that behaves just like them. Sometimes karma is sweet.

On the whole, I’d say that daughters have fewer regrets than sons when their parents pass. Or maybe sons just accept it as a part of life knowing that everyone dies eventually.

The problem is, our children are busy with their own families and jobs and they think they’ll have time or make time for their parents later. And sometimes later doesn’t come.

Great song, I know. And a great segway.

My parents are gone. My father’s tenth anniversary just passed and my mother predeceased him. I am now a grandmother whose son has grown, meaning I’m growing old.

If you’d ever told me when I was 21 that someday I’d be 62 I would have fainted.

My son was the center of my universe until the age of 14 when he left to live with his father. He left in a mean and angry way. We had been close, but after that, he was no longer a part of my everyday life and our relationship took a hit.

It was another one that had gone bad.

After he moved, it was a five hour trip by car to the boonies of Upstate New York. I didn’t see him for a month and then two more after that. I was nervous both times, our communication tentative.

Over the years, he made several choices I didn’t agree with, like joining the Army, and took some unnecessary risks with his life, e.g., taking the State Police on a high-speed chase on his motorcycle.

“Hey, it’s my life,” he told me.

“F*** you,” I replied, “If you get killed you think it won’t affect me?”

He agreed I had a point, but was less than apologetic.

Now I see friends with grandchildren on Facebook, holding, and caring for them. I’ve seen them out for walks. But mine are far away. I rarely see them.

It was a long road getting back to a point where my son and I had a relationship. I even removed pictures of him from my desk at work and my home. Yes, it can get to the point where you don’t like your kids. I told him off one day and cleared the air.

After that, and with the birth of his son, we worked our way back.

Here we are again on speaking terms.

The trouble its, he doesn’t take the time to speak to me.

He’s told me this several times.

“You’re my mom. I’ll take care of you,” he says.

It’s no comfort to me. I don’t want anyone to take care of me. I know what that’s like.

I don’t want him to step in at a time where he is obligated because I can no longer take care of myself. I don’t need him to make my life comfortable as I usher in the last days of my life, when the quality of it may be poor at best.

At that point, I might not even know he’s there and it makes life harder for everyone, including the person you’re caring for.

And why talk about a future that may never come? It’s a waste of time.

I need you now. Now when I can remember the day of the week. Most of the time.

And how would he feel if I were gone tomorrow? Probably pretty bad. But then it would be too late.

I know he’s busy. So am I. But I’m here at this moment.

I want to have a relationship with him and his family, not a caretaker later on in my life. I do not need him to physically care for me, but I do need him.

How about he carves time out of his busy week for a 10-minute call? Send me a card on special occasions or have one of your kids draw me a picture. Something that lets me know you give a damn. That you know I exist. Because right now I’m not sure he does.

Hey son, did you know there’s a pandemic and I live alone? Do you know what that’s like?

And you know my sister is sick. With cancer. Don’t you understand that it’s breaking my heart?

He visits with his family on Thanksgiving, which I look forward to. I receive a card and a gift at Christmas. Other than that, we seldom communicate.

I have the honor of receiving a text on special days like my birthday and Mother’s Day. Otherwise, a text from me goes unanswered for days. He’s dropped in for our family zoom meetings once in the past four months.

To me, that’s not caring.

In case I am being in any way obtuse, let me spell it out for you.

What I want is to live my life to its fullest with the people that are closest to me in it. I need and want that now, not years from now. Those years may never come.

The future isn’t guaranteed. We have this moment and the people in it. That’s it.

You expect me to live to be elderly. Who says I will? If I do and you still feel strongly about it, please feel free to spend the money and put me in a private assisted living facility. There are some great ones out there, but they come at a price.

That would allow me to have some autonomy and for you to have peace of mind knowing that someone is there for me 24/7 if I need help. I’ll give up my home if I can’t take care of myself. I’m not that stubborn and I would rather die tragically in my home than live in a shit hole.

So if you give a damn about me, pick up the phone and ask me how I’m doing. Drop-in on a family zoom meeting, even if it’s for 15 minutes. I’d love to see your face and hear your voice.

Like you said, I’m your mom.

And I’m telling you, that’s how I need you to take care of me.