I am sometimes (often? most of the time?) a very insecure person. I don't understand what I mean to a lot of the people I love. I have a very hard time thinking I am special. And yet I have all these marvelous people who love me and think that I am truly a rare find! But I don't understand it at all.
I have tried to be a good mom to my Second Daughter. It is a challenge, not because of her, but because I do not want to let her grow up and be who she is. I want to hold on to her and to be involved in everything she does. But she has grown up and has earned her freedom and a life to call her own. I am not doing well with "empty nest."
And when she is with me, when we are together, I don't understand why she wants to spend time with me. I am a wet-blanket and nothing like as fun as her boyfriend or some of her girlfriends. And when I bemoan my lack of understanding, she tells me, in exasperation, "You're my Mom!" like that explains everything! I stand there without any comprehension of what it means to her for me to be her mom. I don't know why I don't understand.
Tonight, I got a clue...
I was the oldest, the first-born, of three brothers. I do not remember feeling special to my mother. I was never able to make her feel proud of me. Nothing I did was good enough. I could not make her show me her love. After Poppa knows how long, I became just this child, confused and alone, who lived in the same house with my mom and dad and my brothers. I felt no real connection to anyone but my next younger brother (who happened to be Mom's favorite.)
I have no experience of what it means to love my mom. I have no reference point when Debra tells me, "You're my Mom!"