The Power of Mom

An astonishing number of beers and appetizers later, we head for the cottage. And Terry and I take a seat on the porch while Mick heads off to bed. We talk into the wee hours. About her art project, job prospects, kids, holidays, Craig, eHarmony, men in general.

We dive into the unfamiliar waters of my mother having left when I was exactly Hil's age. It is as astonishing a revelation to her as it was to me. This is a girl whose mother died when she was young. We know exactly the power that a mother holds. We also know exactly the influence of a father thrown head first into the deep end of the parenting pool. Sink or swim. Cling to one another. Eventually we all find our sea legs.

Oddly, the most telling story is that one about Hil getting her Period. The monthly curse. Aunt Flo coming to town.

I admit to wishing I could have spent the time with Hil. Watching old movies and eating chocolate and bacon and popcorn to soothe the soul. Everyone needs a little TLC when their ovaries are in an uproar. And the first time is so alarming!

I tell her about the conversation Hil and I had. The prep work we'd done months in advance for this very occasion.

And she tells me about when hers arrived. She was young but her mother was already bedridden with illness. She'd yelped from the hall bathroom. Dad had come running. But when she objected, her mother had come. Crawling. Quite literally. A mother's call to duty.

And by contrast, I'd been in 8th grade. My parents were well on their way to marital ruin. Mom was morbidly depressed. Slept the day away most days. This day was no different. Charlotte and Joe and I had been getting ourselves up and out the door to school on our own for years. But I thought something like this would have compelled her to leave the bed. Propelled her to my side to put a hand on my shoulder and calm my nerves and help me focus on a practical reaction to the arrival of womanhood. I had tiptoed into her darkened room where she slept the sleep of the dead.

"Mom! I got my period, " I'd hissed quietly in a state nearing panic.

"Do you know where everything is?" she mumbled sleepily, never opening her eyes. The lids never even fluttered.

I was sure I could bash her in the head with the potted plant she'd left to die of thirst under the bedroom window.

I stood up straight and said, this time not bothering to whisper, "I'll find everything. The closet is neat as a pin." (The closet, you should know, resembled one you might find in a college dorm room. After a bombing. Complete disarray with things falling out when the door was opened.)

And again, it had been on the bus and in gym class that I'd gotten the motherly advice on what to do, where to go, all the how-tos. My gym teacher had probably thought I was an orphan.

And I wonder what Hil will remember. Will she remember that she called me crying? Will she remember my calming conversation, and my offer to pick her up? Will she remember my advice about chocolate or my confidence that I could save her favorite shorts from the trash bin?

Or will she remember that I was not there? That I was in my car on the way to the cottage seeking solitude? Will she remember that I offered to talk to Lars about our agreement or will she feel that she suffered her parents' separation? One more loss, one more challenge laid at her feet by our failed marriage?

These are the thoughts I have when Lars gets into my head with his criticism of me as a mother. When his claims that I wanted to be a part time mother and did not care about the kids dig deep. In my heart of hearts I know that his feelings of abandonment by me were really dormant feelings that he'd been abandoned by his mother that I had awakened from hibernation. His natural (albeit twisted) instinct was to couch it as my abandoning my children. Asshole.

But I have to believe that in my weakest hour I am still a powerhouse of influence on my children. That my love and my guidance embrace them. That I am their safe place, the home to their hearts, and unshakable, tireless presence. Have. To. Believe.

Only time will tell. And time is in short supply. The day I know for sure is coming like the dawn.