Let it Go, Mom!

How many times have you heard (or said) those four words? If your answer is less than ten, you can skip the rest of this. But, if you're like me, read on, moms (and daughters*, so you can understand the crazy.)

Over the years I've written about relationships: being a grandma, daughter, sister, mom, stepparent, wife, even a friend. In some of these epistles I've merely described our relationship and how it made me feel, while in other entries I have proffered my insight, gained from experience, on the right way the other person should behave. Many times I do poke fun at myself, but I also point out how my parent/sister/husband/daughter could have acted more appropriately.

I am here to turn the table on myself, to put my misdeeds in the spotlight. Why? For three very good (and beautiful) reasons--you know who you are. But also I want to share this with you moms out there who may not have completely severed that umbilical cord yet, even though it's been over 25 years since you gave birth. 

*Disclaimer: I have no idea if this applies to sons. I don't have any of those. 

How to alienate your adult daughter in 10 easy steps

1. Give unsolicited advice; try to fix everything 
2. Call/text/email her several times a day
3. Point out her weaknesses (as if she doesn't know already) 
4. Constantly give examples of how you did things "back in the day"
5. Listen to conversations with her spouse; interject your own thoughts
6. Compare her to her sibling(s) or worse, discuss her with her sibling 
7. Persist in interfering even after she pleads with you to let it go
8. Disapprove of her parenting style 
9. Treat her like a child
10. Neglect telling her how proud you are of her accomplishments  

I thought about expanding on these, and adding some dry humor, but honestly the above statements do not need any embellishment. 

Dear Daughters: Your Mom is not a Mushroom

Oh the convoluted relationship between mothers and their adult daughters. Out of all my jobs, being the mom of adult daughters can (and does) make me question my sanity; it is an  emotional roller coaster. In any one minute period, I can feel pride, shame, joy, embarrassment, happiness, anger, irritation, peace, comfort, frustration, and sadness, and trying to explain any of my feelings usually gets dismissed as "you misunderstood." I thought I was alone in this, that perhaps because I am one of those highly sensitive persons I was imagining things. Turns out I am not. In talking to other moms of adult children (I know, that's an oxymoron), one common thread emerged: moms are seen by their kids as the persons they were when the kids were growing up. To them, Mom has not moved on, or changed, or developed a personality or life story of her own. This phenomenon exists regardless of how well mom and daughter get along. 

So, on that note, here are important things to remember to have a good relationship with your mom as you both age gracefully into the sunset.

1. Your mom was a person before you were born, and still is a person. She was not always your mom, even though you never met her until she was your mom. And when she became your mom, she loved you as best as she could, but always more than you would ever love her. Her life before you didn't cease to exist; it just got put on hold, or maybe even left behind. Everything changed for her. You became her world. Then you got older, and found your own world and left mom behind. You love her but you see her as she was when you left. 

    Stop and look at her with different eyes. See her the way you look at a stranger, get to know her. You are not the same as you were at 12 or 15 or 18...neither is she.

2. You do not know everything about your mom; you only know what she tells you and lets you see. There are many things children do not need to know about their mother's past, even though her past made her who she is, so when you ask questions about a part of her life she does not want you to see, she will blithely change the subject. But as you get older, and can understand there is pain and hurt and sin in the world, your mom may want to share parts of her life, herself with you. 

    Let her...you will have a richer experience for it. Don't turn away or tell her you don't want to hear about those things, as if it will make you not love her. Listen to her and learn about her life. It will help you understand not just her, but yourself as well.

3. Your mom still wants to kiss all your boo boos and make them better.  From the day you were born, your mom was the mama bear; when you came running to her crying, she was there. If you were sick, she magically made you feel better. If you felt lost, or said you would never EVER understand quadratic equations, she was there. If someone hurt your feelings, she listened. There were times she would let you make mistakes, hoping experience would be the best teacher. Then you flew the nest, and at first you'd ask for her help or advice (oh joy!), but then, all too soon, mom became obsolete, no longer needed. She would hear sadness or pain or anger in your voice or see it in your face, and she would ask you "what's wrong, what can I do?". 

   Let her ask you. Don't brush her off and change the subject. Talk to her, tell her as much as you can about your feelings and how you can sort it out. Tell her to just listen. She will. Don't shut her out. Or, if you must, nicely and graciously tell her you really aren't ready to talk about it, but you love that she noticed you were upset. 

4. Mom cannot keep every single event in your life in perfect order and remember the exact time and date and place it hapened; if she remembers it wrong, let it go.  Everyone has their own story, including your mom, and their own memories of events. You may think you will remember exactly what month and year your kids lost their first tooth or learned to ride a bike, but trust me, by the time your kids are in their late 20s, it all starts running together.  That's why you hear people over 50 always  saying "where does the time go?"--they really do not know where it goes--maybe it goes where those other socks go. Moms remember little snapshots of moments, sometimes triggered by a smell or a song or a word or a look. 

    So, if she says "Oh yeah, you did that when you were a seven and were wearing a yellow shirt," please don't correct her. Which leads me to number 5...

5. Your mom does not like to be corrected by her child, even if her child is 40.  No, your mom does not think she is perfect (even if she is), or that she is always right (even if she is), she just wants to be honored and respected, not corrected or dismissed or laughed at. If you really must say something to her because it hurt your feelings or caused pain or embarrassment to someone else who cannot or won't speak up for themselves, talk to your mom privately at another time. Sure she can learn from you, but there is way to do it.

    Be as respectful to her as you are to someone else your mom's age that you really admire. Oh, and never correct her in front of your spouse or in front of your children. 

6. Your mom has experience in many situations, so let her be herself.  Unless she has lived under a rock for the past 60 plus years, your mom has run across just about every situation you can name. She can handle herself. She gave birth to you, kept you alive for all those years, and look how perfect and smart you are now.

    Trust your mom. Don't be a helicopter daughter. See #1.

7. Your mom wants needs time alone with her grandchildren.  This is a tough one for some daughters out there, but you know if your mom can be trusted with your precious babies. Set your boundaries, sure, but grandchildren need time alone with their grandparents, and vice versa. Their conversations are different, and many times things are shared in confidence, so that is something you will have to work out with your kids and your mom. 

    Regardless, don't control their relationship; let them be themselves. Just don't abuse it--she already raised her kids; she does not want to raise yours.

8. You are not the only one who likes to be appreciated.  Instead of telling silly stories about your mom at family gatherings, or pretending your mom was oh so horrible when you are talking to your kids, say something nice, give her a compliment, talk about how your mom managed to work and raise kids, or how clean she kept things. 

    Build her up. Don't just make jokes. Oh, and she likes to hear these things even when it is just the two of you. Send her a card. Invite her to coffee. Tell her you were thinking about her. 

So, dear daughters, your mom isn't perfect--no mom is. But she is the only mom you will ever have. Some of you have stepmoms or "other" moms, but whoever you have to look up to as your mom, cherish her and honor her, get to know her. She will be your biggest fan and your best friend. 

Men, don't get your knickers in a twist.  This does not apply to you because, well, you just are not that complicated; sons don't seem to have the same communication issues as daughters. They just sort of grunt and look hungry, mom feeds them, and then all is good.

And remember, your mom is not a mushroom. 

Hiding under the Gray

me in Dec 1955

Gave my heart quite a jolt today. I was trimming some hair near the nape of my neck to send in for a hair follicle test (don't ask); the sample had to be close to the root. So I clipped up my hair, grabbed a little clump underneath, took the scissors, and SNIP, off it came. I brought it around to the front to place it in the sample envelope, and I gasped. I was visibly shaken. There it was, a 6 inch long strand of hair, not my original strawberry blonde, or blonde gray, or even brownish gray...gray. When in the world did this happen? The front and topside of my hair still has blonde streaks, and is light grayish blonde, I know intellectually hair underneath is going to be darker, and no I do not dye my hair, but really? Gray? I actually dropped it, I was so startled. It was truly a defining moment for me.

Believe me, I have no delusions of looking eternally youthful and dewy fresh, nor do I even want to, and the thought of plastic surgery to remove all the wrinkles and age spots I have worked so hard for makes me laugh (and at least I can still laugh...some of those women in Hollywood definitely cannot even move their mouths or eyebrows let alone laugh!). I see evidence of my aging every single day, sometimes several times a day,  I see it as I struggle to put on my compression socks over my varicose vein covered legs, and reach for my nice comfortable shoes (and sometimes my knee brace). I see it when I notice gravity is winning the war against every body part...soon I will be just one big rectangle. Arthritis, age spots, wrinkles, stiff joints, all these things I've been dealing with as gracefully as one can, plus some other things I never knew about like "vitreous gel detachment." That is the gel substance behind your eyeball and as you get older it dries up, shrinks, and eventually detaches from the back of the eye, and you suddenly get about 100 new little black floaters in your vision. Fun city. I deal with all this stuff. I know my body has an expiration date. 

But what floors me is it happened so quickly and took me by surprise. One minute I was a mom, a senior NCO, just doing my own thing, opening doors for older ladies and being polite and nice but not really seeing them like they were ever young once, and then BAM it happens to me. But inside, I am still me, the same me I have been all along, with all those experiences and memories and little tidbits to share. Same personality, same sarcasm and biting wit, same highly sensitive "cry at the drop of a hat" Barbara, same person with all the baggage I have been carrying all these years, but now it is all blended together, a much improved version. I want to scream out "I am still in here, I am still ME".  All of my younger Barbaras are behind the face in the mirror, the face others see right now. I am an amalgamation. Wow! Folks are getting a 67 for 1 deal...67 Barbaras for the price of 1! (I do realize that may frighten some of you).

This realization that getting older is no longer just some nebulous point sometime in the future, but it is happening now, hit me hard. Because now, at 67, I know I am not immortal. I am positive over half of my life is over (oh come on now...I am not being morbid...no one lives to be 140 anymore). More than ever, time IS precious, too precious to waste. I might have 30 more years, or 30 more minutes, and there is a lot I have to do during my remaining time. Like weigh what my driver's license says. Some of it I have already accomplished, like establishing healthy boundaries, eating sushi, raising chickens. Finally not being ashamed of who I was, or who I am, or what I did in the past. Jesus has taken care of all that for me. We have a deal. God gave me his wonderful grace, grace I do not deserve. Whatever else God has in His plans for me, I know He has marked out the sufficient number of minutes, hours, days, or years for me to complete them to glorify Him.  My gray hair "is a crown of glory gained in a righteous life." 

Older women, as a rule, are not frail, or forgetful, or silly. Most of us hate being called "sweetie" or "dearie" by anyone under the age of 60. 

We were all young once. And many of us still are young, we are just in an older body. John Prine wrote a song, "Hello in there," I first heard Joan Baez sing back in the 60s (some of you are probably googling those two artists right now). 

Awesome lyrics--the last line sums it up: 

So if you're walking down the street sometime 

And spot some hollow ancient eyes

Please don't just pass 'em by and stare

As if you didn't care

Say Hello in there, Hello

Fitting in when you're growing old

Girls, remember how hard it was to fit in when you were in high school? There were the smart girls, the popular girls, the cheerleaders, the jocks. I thought we left all those childish things behind, that we could be friends with whomever we want. But sadly those cliques never went away. 

It’s so frustrating to want to be friends with someone only to be rebuffed because of your age or what area of the country you are from, or even based on your stage of life. Women I meet look at me and see someone in their 60s, or someone not from here, when I don’t even give it a second thought how old I look or what my accent sounds like (although there are days I look in the mirror and wonder who is staring back at me). I just feel like me, I don’t feel like an age; I just want to make friends. Sure I am in my 60s, and my kids are grown and they have kids, but I am personable and funny and sensitive and have a lot of experience to share, a lot of stories to tell. But I am too “different” for some people. Why do women want to limit their exposure to people just like them? They could learn so much more, and share what they know too.

You know what’s not fair? Men over the age of 22 can be friends with any guys regardless of how old they are; they can hang out, talk, go to breakfast together, share stories, play sports, do Bible studies, tell dumb jokes, the list is endless. They can be single, married, divorced, or widowed. They can have kids or grandkids or great grandkids or none at all. They can be tradesman, white collar workers, or unemployed. That Y chromosome is the universal link tying them together.  But women?  No way. Women are agists; they adhere to a strict, unwritten, genetically implanted set of parameters that define in no uncertain terms who can belong to what groups. 

First, women divide themselves by profession or place of employment. Teachers, medical personnel, stay at home moms, lawyers, service employees such as waitresses and massage therapists, retail employees, business owners,…you get the point. Then, women sort themselves by decade (20s, 30s, 40s, and then anyone over 50), and marital status (single, married, widow, divorced [look out], and of course the perennially engaged/no wedding in sight. Next, you have the kids—who has them, who doesn’t, and more importantly, the children’s ages and school grade level. Where you’re from definitely matters, and hobbies and lifestyles narrow it down even more. Why does all this matter? What should matter is values, beliefs, religion, not the age or income demographic you fit into. 

Take, for example, the churches we have attended—my husband always seems to blend right in with men of all ages and backgrounds, but I feel nudged toward a certain group of ladies, all in their 60s and above, most of whom I nothing else in common with. My personality and energy level fit more with some of the younger women, but I get the distinct impression they are convinced I just don’t fit in—too old, too different. Sure everyone is friendly and sweet (it is church, ya know), but there are just far too many differences to overcome: parents were divorced, former Catholic, colorful past, second marriage, retired military. And it’s not just at church—I have volunteered in many capacities in our local community, and organize annual fundraisers for childhood cancer research. Through those activities I interact with a lot of people, and I am known and recognized, but the relationship stops short of forming a real friendship.

Having spent over half of my adult life in the military, I was accustomed to working with and for all kinds of people, from all over the world and every walk of life. I made friends for life, friends who would do anything for me and my family.  I miss fitting in with everyone, and having that common thread tying us together. To this day, my military comrades will randomly reach out and chat or call or even send a card. We attend weddings and 50th birthday parties and funerals; we keep in touch. And if we haven't seen each other for ten years, we just pick up where we left off, as if we just saw each yesterday. At the airport or in a restaurant, when two military members meet, there is an immediate unspoken rapport and understanding that defies explanation, an invisible bond. I think that is what I miss the most here, made all the harder by the artificially imposed limitations on who can be in my friendship circle. And no, I don’t want to move (yet) close to a military installation. Maybe I just want to be included in the friendship circles around me, to show them what they are missing, to take a chance, to go out on a limb to get to know me. 

Barring that, I'll cultivate the friendships of those who genuinely want to be my friends. Including my best friend--that guy I've been with for 33 years.

On dreams and nightmares

Last night I had one of those dreams again, a dream involving my sisters and their families; the plot and the setting change, but the characters are always the same: my dad, my stepmom, my mother, and my sisters. It was a happy dream, and I woke feeling at peace, more content than I had felt in six years. The general storyline was a bit silly, as they are in most dreams, but the characters were so real I could see their faces and hear their voices. My sister Mary Beth was getting married and I was helping her get ready on the big day; everyone was dressed and ready to go, but in true Mary Beth-fashion, the bride was not: she arrived late, still in a set of blue scrubs and crocs, hair and makeup definitely not done. Fast forward to the reception, and the whole family is there--mine, hers, Nancy's--and everyone is having a great time, laughing, smiling, looking like one of those Hallmark movie endings. My nephew Joe's twins were playing hide and seek, my granddaughters were coloring and dancing, and I was so, well, happy, happier than I had been in years. Then I woke up. At first, the dream euphoria continued, as if everything had actually happened and I had just awakened from a pleasant reverie of past events. 

Suddenly though, without warning, I snapped out of it, and realized it was, after all, only a dream, and I simultaneously felt silly and angry and sad, because the reality is my sisters have not spoken to me (not kindly, anyway) in over six years; they have completely shut me and my family out of their lives and the lives of their children, as if I have never existed. If there was any wedding, I would not even know about it, let alone be invited; although Nancy's daughter and youngest son celebrated weddings this year, I was not welcome, nor was any of my family.  Joe's four boys, including the twins I have never met, will never know me or Alex or my daughters and their children. My stepmom was the glue that held our fragile family together, and when she died, so did the family; we splintered apart into our own separate worlds. And so we remain, with little left of what once existed other than a few memories, and all the worst for it. 

Theories abound as to why we dream and what these dreams mean. Some say dreams are how we process memories, they reflect life experiences, or work through difficult and unsettling emotions. Still others propose dreams have a biochemical component, or they provide a protection to prepare us to face threats and danger. I think they all have a valid basis, but regardless of why we dream what we dream, I just want someone to tell me how to stop the dreams. Unlike most of my dreams and nightmares, these recurring dreams peopled by those I used to call family are so vivid, so detailed, and so realistic I wake up believing the dream is real, and it takes me a good 30 minutes to realize it was, after all, just a dream.  

More like a nightmare. A nightmare that never ends.

The unbreakable bond

"Urgent...Call me. ASAP. Not a scam, spam or joke." This was the message we received Sunday morning, sent to our Top Three, a bunch of retired senior noncommissioned officers who 20 years ago formed an unbreakable bond while working in the intel division at Shaw AFB, SC. All of us were in the top three of the enlisted tier; some were active duty at the time, some retired and working as contractors, but we all had one thing in common: our love for the military and each other. What started as an official group quickly morphed into something more intimate, having frequent get togethers at each others' homes as one member would announce "Top three at so and so's house this weekend!" These much anticipated gatherings involved a lot of food (usually ribs or brisket BBQ'd by Bill), beer, and fellowship, punctuated of course by comical hijinks (usually Tim, Kevin, and Liz). Some of my best memories are from these top three parties, and are etched into my brain forever. To an outsider these "parties" looked like any other party, but they were oh so much more; there was an unspoken promise to members to always be there for each other and their families, no matter what. Despite living separate lives miles apart and rarely seeing each other, if at all, that bond has persisted to this day.

As we get older, the group has dwindled as first one, then another, dies. We've lost Tim, Ronshella, and Steve. Someone notifies those of us remaining via a Facebook message to the group, and we gather to say farewell to yet another brother or sister. If we are lucky we have one final top three with someone who we know won't be around much longer, but usually the announcement of a death comes as a jolting shock. Such was the message on Sunday: one of our brothers was killed in a motorcycle accident the night before, leaving a wife of nearly 30 years, a son, daughter, and a brand new grandson. 

For those who have never served in the military, especially in the top enlisted tier, the camaraderie and closeness we share is incomprehensible. Our connection transcends distance, time, and station in life; it follows us to the grave, but does it stop there? Eating my breakfast in silence and prayer, memories flooded in about him--his love of life, spontaneity, loyalty, hilarious antics, dedication to the military and the United States, and most of all, his devotion and love for his family. Then it hits me...did he know Jesus? Will he be there when my time comes to leave this earth? Did I ever share my faith with him, or pray for him, or for the others, people I claim such a kinship? Am I doing all I can to carry that bond beyond the grave?

Sure, life is short, people get old, we die, and life goes on--on earth, anyway. But what about eternal life? Do I share the joy of my salvation with those I love and cherish, or do I hide my light under the proverbial bushel basket? When the message goes out to our group informing them I have died, what will their thoughts be? Will they be assured I am in heaven? Will they even remember me as a Christian, as one who was passionate about her love for Jesus? When they try to remember my face, will it be the image of someone who lived for Jesus or for the world? Will it shock them that I was a Christian?

Urgent...pray now. ASAP. 

Kevin...I will always remember you for your loyalty, professionalism, patriotism, your ability to make everyone laugh, your crazy antics, but most of all for your love and devotion for your family. Ride on, Kevin, ride on.

Aging with Grace (?)

When I was 20, 30, 40, heck even 50 years old, aging was something far off in the distance, and I did not really think much about it. I'd hear people over 65 complaining, talking about their ailments, and telling me things like "getting old is not for sissies!" I thought they were just over-exaggerating everything. 

Then I turned 65. I felt like the same me on the inside; in fact, I felt the same as I did when I was in my 30s (but smarter and a little slower). In my head, I still look like the same person, but then I look in the mirror and I wonder (sometimes out loud) "who is that old lady in there? Where did those wrinkles come from? What in the world are those brown spots on my face?" I mean, I'm not vain, and I know our bodies have an expiration date; we wear out. But for the love of Mike, I did not count on it happening so soon! Someone should give us (especially women) a handbook, much like the "You're a Young Lady Now" book our moms gave us when we hit puberty; it could be called "What to (not) look forward to after your 50s. 

My oldest daughter has asked me the same question every year for the past 5 or 6 years: "Mom, what do you wish you'd have known when you were my age?" I never have to struggle to come up with an answer. So, for those of you who do not know what I am talking about, here is a list to prepare you for your golden years.

Things I didn't count on when I got older:

Your hamstrings and quadriceps no longer have any useful function. We all hate doing burpees and squats, so these are the exercises we cheat on. As in "yeah I really did 25 burpees!" when we really only did six. You will regret slacking on those the first time you try to get up from a sitting position on the floor, or when you can't get out of the bathtub without doing a downward dog. You know those handles next to the toilets in hospital and doctor's office bathrooms? You will appreciate these. A lot.  

Your skin becomes very, very ugly. I used to think getting wrinkles was the only thing I had to worry about in my later years. Think again; wrinkles are the least of your issues. Age spots pop up everywhere overnight--on your face, hands, legs, toes, ears, chest...you name it, every body part will get these weird darker pigmented blotches, and no amount of makeup or concealer is going to hide them. Well, you try valiantly to cover them, desperately changing foundation brands and shades, to no avail. Those "skin lightening" creams? Forget it. It's a scam. And all those wrinkle treatments? Save your money for something useful. The worst surprise so far? Your skin is paper thin, dry, and your blood vessels are thinner and weaker as well, so the slightest bump and whatever body part you hit, if you're lucky, immediately turns purple with a bruise that lasts for weeks. If you aren't lucky, you get skin tears-- since your skin is tissue paper thin, bump your hand or arm or calf and the skin flaps open. We kept running out of bandaids (and they rip my skin too), so I just ordered a box of 100 Tegaderm. 

You will fall--accept it.  You will be walking across a parking lot and when you reach the sidewalk you step up, and the next thing you know you are flat on your face. Your feet do not like you anymore. Or you are walking down steps and for some reason only known to God your foot slips out from under you and you are on your butt. Remember that part about thin skin and bruising? Yeah, you will look like the losing end of a bar fight. 

You get short arm disease. Remember when your dad would hold something away from him and try to read the print on a medicine bottle? Trust me, your arms are not long enough. First you will be in denial and buy those "readers" at the dollar store, but eventually, yes you will need bifocals. If you don't like those lined glasses, be prepared to spend over $400 for progressive lenses. Oh and in a few years after that you will need cataract surgery anyway. 

You will say "huh?" and "what" a lot. Unless you are Superman, your hearing will get bad enough to require you to wear hearing aids, and boy, are they expensive. And Medicare does not cover them. These aren't your grandmother's hearing either--you know, the yellowish box she had on a lanyard around her neck? These are high tech and nearly invisible, they do not require constant battery changes, and they have bluetooth--they really do work wonders. The downside? Wearing them in busy loud places is torture, and those tiny little rubber domes come off sometimes and get stuck in your ear canal. But, the cool part is I can listen to music or podcasts or GPS directions in my ear, and block out annoying people or husbands. 

Closed captions become your best friend. Watching any movie where the actors have ANY accent necessitates captions, and it has nothing to do with hearing loss. It has to do with your brain getting old. The worst accent? British. (Sorry Liz)

You become anxious driving in new places.  GPS is your second best friend (but also can leave you hanging if there isn't good service.) Your mind can no longer process directions like it used to, so getting lost is not hard. You don't even have to have Alzheimer's. Again, aging brain. Luckily, my husband is 10 years younger so I can count on him for at least 5 more years. 

You will get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.  This is not limited to men. Some nights you will get up two or three times. Clear the path of all obstacles, and make sure your husband never leaves the seat up.

Your adult children will patronize you.  Yes I know it is because they love me. But seriously, I get sort of tired of all the questions and warnings, "Mom, are you sure you're up to a walk?", or "That box is too heavy for you", or "Mom, are you OK?" every time you bump a toe or drop something or start bleeding all over from a skin tear. I would say get thicker skin for all these comments, but that ship sailed a long time ago.

I haven't even covered aching joints, arthritis, greying hair, and acid reflux, because those are a given. I expected those. There are benefits, though...senior discounts at restaurants, amusement parks, movie theaters, concerts, you name it! The best part? You don't even have to prove you are a senior citizen. They believe you! You can sleep longer. You can take naps without being judged. And usually, if they were raised right, people actually listen to you. (Unless they are older than you).

Seriously though, approach aging with grace and kindess and patience. Lots and lots of patience, for those around you and for yourself. You are not obsolete. God has a purpose for you no matter what your age. 

It's just hard to remember what it is. :-)

"Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you." Isaiah 46:4