This is not how I envisioned spending Mother’s Day. I definitely don’t feel very polished and perfect like a Hallmark commercial. No Pinterest vibes going on over here either. Nope. In fact, when I walked into a medical office last week, I caught the reflection of a flabby, spent woman with sallow skin and heavy bags under her eyes staring back at me. And “she” was ME. Yikes! So, when my kids asked what I wanted for Mother’s Day, I told them I wanted heart-felt encouragement. (Verbal affirmation is my cactus’ love language, remember?) They rolled their eyes and said “no, really”. Actually, that was my most honest answer. So, I decided to write a letter to THEM instead. Here it is. An open letter to my children amid COVID-19.
A different kind of Mother’s Day.
Dear Hannah, Colin and Luke,
Things are a bit strange and different at the moment, aren’t they? Cooped up in our house and your dad quarantined upstairs with coronavirus. No big trip to the local nursery this year for colorful flowers, then a peaceful morning spent up to my elbows in rich dirt planting the cheerful blooms into my porch containers. I always loved to follow that up with a hot shower with new bath gel and fresh lotion, and then a nap on crisp cotton sheets. While I napped, you and your dad would clean the downstairs and then bring home carry-out dinner of my choice. Absolute perfection.
Despite missing out on all of that usual stuff, I have already received wonderful gifts from each of you (my children) for this Mother’s Day. They didn’t cost you a cent, and I bet you don’t even realize you gave them to me. Still, they are priceless and I am so grateful to have received them.
A gift from my oldest.
Hannah. My oldest. Your gift to me has been your being here. Not as your Royal Highness Princess Peapod gracing us with your presence. I mean you physically being HERE instead of being THERE. Please, let me explain.
I realize you could have moved back to your off-campus house after COVID-19 self-isolation was imposed. I am grateful you stayed. And not just from a logistical standpoint trying to hold the household together without your dad. Although your hands-on help has been priceless. I mean from an emotional, “I get you back for a while” standpoint.
You see, I had finally digested the bitter fact that you were never going to live in my nest for any significant length of time again. After you finished this semester of college, you’d be off to your summer internship in New York. Then in the Fall you’d be right back to campus to complete your senior lap, graduate and move away to start your career. Lord willing, we would see you for occasional holidays and maybe a vacation here and there, but in reality you had moved out of our home as is the natural order of things.
This whole pandemic mess and your dad’s COVID-19 diagnosis has forced us together in a way I didn’t think we’d ever be again. You are sleeping in your old room in your old twin bed. You are present for almost every family dinner. And you are playing your Taylor Swift albums (loudly) while you bake in the kitchen. What a wonderful “replay” opportunity for me! I get to soak you in every single day, except now you are a young adult and not a child. Your being back in my nest, even for just a few months, is a wonderful gift.
A gift from my middle.
Ah, Colin. My middle child. I can hear you now, even as I type this alone in our quiet living room. “I don’t like talking about feelings, Mom. All this mushy stuff is dumb.” Composing an open letter to my children amid COVID-19 is something that at best disinterests you and at worst makes you cringe. I get that. You are an eighteen-year old young man about to graduate from high school and start the next chapter of your life. Your mother’s emotional outpouring on her blog is NOT at the top of your list. Your friends and your future are. Fair enough.
Despite all that, son, I need you to hear me. Your gift to me during our family lock-down has been your easygoing, entertaining nature. You see, the thing about you that sprouts most of the gray hairs on my head is the very thing that I am leaning into for shelter now.
While your sister and I are busy project-managing the household to maximum efficiency under our circumstances, you are keeping all of us human with your creativity and comedy. For example, you make up goofy lyrics about our family stuck in this crazy situation, and you infuse our stressful surroundings with live music. You keep trying out your celebrity impressions, or form an impromptu rhythm band out of whatever materials are handy. I especially love when you lead us at the dinner table in singing three part chords and toss in some of what you’re learning about music theory. I even enjoy how delighted you are to call out whenever my pitch goes flat.
You breathe lightness and laughter into our home. There currently is a beautiful blend between work and play in our household that would not as easily exist without you. That is a most wonderful gift, too.
A gift from my youngest.
Luke. My youngest. You aren’t quite two years old, and yet you have given me a wonderful present all on your own. Remember the reflection of the flabby, tired woman earlier in this open letter to my children amid COVID-19? Well, you’ve never actually seen her, have you? When she shuffles toward your crib in the early mornings with her bedhead hair and yet unbrushed teeth, you just see your beautiful mama. When she burns the grilled cheese and sets off the house smoke alarm because she has too much on her mind, you just see your beautiful mama. And when the toys aren’t picked up and the laundry isn’t folded yet again, you just see your beautiful mama.
But it goes beyond that, little one. You see, I am often my own worst critic internally as well. And when I am feeling inadequate, I see how you look at me, and I see reflections of the truth. I am enough. As is. In your eyes I am strong, and I am capable. I am the finder of lost things, and the healer of hurts. I am your safety, your security and your provider of good stuff. And right now, that is a wonderful gift to me.
I know your view of me will evolve as you continue grow. And I am okay with that. In fact, my prayer is that someday you will know Jesus as all of those things to you instead. He is your finder, your healer, your security, and your provider. I just get to model that for you to start.
Love, Mom
So, I really don’t want or need anything else from you (my children) for Mother’s Day. All three of you have gifted me with something unique and special that sustains me during this trying chapter of separation and your dad’s illness. You are, and will forever be, my best presents.
Love, Mom.
Header image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
