Unsung Hero

Friends know I like to tell that story of my mom's forgetting to pick me up after choir practice at the church when I was a kid. It wasn't a random forgetful moment, but a regular occurrence that eventually turned into a ritual of my getting rides home with the choir director, arriving just as dinner was being placed on the table and my mom's "Oh, Beth, when did you get home?" To which I disdainfully replied, "It's Thursday...you forgot me at choir...again..." 

I recalled this experience to a dear friend and colleague, Dottie, who knew my mom professionally, to which she replied, "I'm sure that never happened, your mom is so organized!"

Which is true...at the time we were speaking, she was teaching a time management course to the undergraduate students at Bryn Mawr College. I smiled at my friend as we waited for mom to pick me up after work (we both worked at Bryn Mawr and car-pooled.)

After about 15 minutes, I turned to Dottie  and said, "I bet she forgot me."

She replied, "She'd never forget you. She just got held up." Several minutes later Mom arrived and Dottie related my comment.

Mom's reply? "I got almost to Rosemont before I remembered her!" 

It's a story of being a third child. By the time my parents had me they were parenting alumni, what I brought in challenges, they seemed to overcome with experience and a typically 1970s laissez faire parenting style that would dismay my own children. For example, by the time I was in high school the rule was you miss the bus, you get yourself to school—walk, ride a bike, take the train—they'd write a note, but wouldn't provide transportation. I learned my senior year how quickly damp hair freezes in cold weather when you run for the bus. My girls would be appalled.  And yet, in these cases, I never felt neglected, unloved, or dismissed.

Nor did I truly ever appreciate my mother, having only recently come to a point in my life where I am in utter amazement at all that she did. At a time when many of my friends' moms were homemakers, Mom worked "part-time" as a physical educator at Immaculata College, co-owned and directed several field hockey and lacrosse camps, served as chair of the township Park and Rec Board, sang in the church choir, had an active social life playing tennis and skiing with friends, AND had a home cooked meal on the table every night...E-V-E-R-Y night. Then she cleaned up after dinner, typed my last minute papers for school, and relaxed in front of the TV, setting her hair to Johnny Carson.

The dinner on the table every night has me in awe as the Carey family routinely has dinner "on your own" or "make do" meals, sometimes out of necessity of timing, many times out of sheer fatigue.

And that big mahogany dinner table literally expanded as needed. Besides the five Shillingfords, we were joined daily by my grandmother and Uncle Willie, who both lived with us. And myriad others dropped in—neighborhood kids and friends who happened to be there at serving time, an occasional colleague or student of Mom's...

But there in the center of it all was Mom—svelte and poised, always ready to make an eloquent speech or to offer advice, be a friend or a mother, whatever was needed in the moment. She's still there, now chief champion and defender of the clan, with my dad, attending every concert, award ceremony, performance, meet, or game for her grandchildren and still mothering the three of us through our various struggles and cheering on our triumphs.

Parenting doesn't shape children in the way any parent expects it to—children are shaped incrementally by breaths and moments crystallized in time and tattooed on their psyche. I don't know if my mother forgot me at choir because I was an independent child, whom she could confidently assume would find her way home or if I became an independent woman because my mother allowed me to find my own way. It doesn't matter. I am ever grateful for the lesson. And my knowledge of her belief in me. 

Existential Living

Preamble

On August 5, I was diagnosed with a small aneurysm in my left carotid artery, which my primary care physician dismissed initially, but sent me to a neurologist, which lead to a neurosurgeon, which lead to discussions of the location of the aneurysm (inside or outside the brain), required me to detail a long family history of aneurysm, and lead me to trying not to freak out over the remote possibility of brain surgery...ultimately leading to an angiogram last week that revealed that the "aneurysm" was nothing more than a misshapen artery. A happy ending after weeks of anxiety...

Existential Living

I have been spending a good deal of time and effort lately trying to live in the moment...an exercise in trying not to worry about the future before I have all the information needed to make decisions. It is amazingly hard to do, especially when parenting teenagers—even though they live remarkably well in the present—their very existence is forward-directed...there is nothing but time ahead of them and as a parent, I am constantly thinking about who they are, who they will become, how can I help them get there? So this exercise in existential living has given me a glimpse back to a time when I was able to lay my head on the pillow at night with the comfort of a home and family, food that I didn't have to cook, the anticipation of time spent with friends, thinking barely further than the next day's events.

I lost the ability to live in the moment as I became a responsible adult...it's a somewhat necessary loss—jobs, bills, managing family and work, providing the future for  my children that will allow them to fulfill their dreams—all requires planning, thinking about goals, money, schools, classes, homework. And helping them develop their interests through sports or music or art contributes to the complexity of planning. So, it's no wonder that it gets harder to be in the moment—even if I can manage it briefly, life comes back at me with more--just more. More obligations, events, details to take care of, doctor appointments and tests to schedule, teachers to meet, deadlines to make, and those ever-present money details—forward thinking in themselves—saving for college, retirement, next year's vacation.

And yet, I have come to believe that the most valuable currency we have is time, it comes to us in a limited quantity and we can never make gains on it, we can only spend it. So the challenge is how to spend it well.  

So what is time well-spent? Standing on the sidelines watching my child excel in a sport she loves so much she laughs and smiles while playing—feeling proud and happy and successful that she has found such joy in sport; listening to my daughter sing while she does her homework, chores, showers, pretty much anything—thrilled to know that no matter what life throws at her, she has developed a coping mechanism that will assist her in dealing its those struggles; sitting next to my husband in a hospital knowing there is no one I would rather have with me at that moment—whether I get good news or bad; hearing the concern and love in a friend's voice—acknowledging that there are people in the world who want the best for me. Being tuned in to the world—able to recognize the beauty in moments—geese flying overhead, v-ing across the sky, the russets and oranges of fall leaves crunching while I walk, the warmth of a dog's head on my feet as I work, an amazement of stars overhead, an abundance of blooms in my garden.

This attempt at living in the moment, while difficult at times, has proven to be a good reminder of all the instances that I typically pass through on a given day without remark...a welcome demonstration of all the wonders that are the sum of my own happiness, if only I take the moment to heed them.  

Friendship & Gratitude

A friend I spoke with yesterday told me how great it was that my girls got to see me as someone other than a mother, wife, daughter on our recent trip with my friend Bonnie. It made me start thinking about the value of long friendships—the ones that start before you are fully formed—for many of us college relationships--and how valuable they become in mid-life.

I have double-edged benefit of living in the same town I grew up in—it is great for so many reasons—my family is right down the road and not 1500 miles away as they are for so many of my friends, my girls go to the same schools I went to, have had some of the same teachers, walk to town on the same streets, have friends whose parents went to elementary school with me. The downside is that in so many ways my few years away from here allowed me to develop a self that felt comfortable and right to me, but as long as I am in my hometown, there is always a me that people assume they know—but she is not the only me. There is another self that developed while I was away at college—an evolving person. I liked that not quite fully-formed girl I was in college. She was a little wild, introspective, fun, competitive, sensual, sassy, funny, conflicted, smart, and far less certain of the world than she let on. She is still in my heart. She is, in fact, the person my husband fell in love with. Being with the people that knew me then is like putting on a well-worn shirt or comfortable pair of shoes—not only do they fit, but they feel good and my world becomes balanced.

As the complexities of life catch up to me, it is sometimes hard to maintain a sense of individuality—experiences are mostly based upon my relationships with the people around me. In my everyday world I am mother, wife, daughter, sister, co-worker, coach, and Mrs. Carey to those around me. Often parenthood, especially, feels like a slow erosion of self—a gradual wearing down of self. Not just the drip of responsibility but the ticking away of time. This feels especially true since the girls hit adolescence. Look at a given week during the school year and you will see soccer games, flute lessons, homework projects, school meetings, and a hundred other small things that focus on the girls, life really has become mostly about them and I am sometimes so pressed for time that I give up the few things that I do for myself—a long walk, writing, gardening—just to get things done for them.

And yet there is nothing in this world I would rather be than Megan and Ally’s mom. It is the best thing David and I have done in life—raising these two curious, smart, talented, funny, happy girls. And I will continue to sacrifice my time to see that they succeed. I remember very distinctly the point when their successes became more important than my own achievements—it is a turning point in parenthood, that juncture when your ambition for yourself becomes secondary to your desire for your children’s happiness and success. For me it was the moment in second grade when Megan’s teacher said “I can’t wait to see what she becomes…”

I know that my heart has opened to new experiences because of motherhood—it makes many of my friendships that much richer and more profound. That is why being with a friend who knows this me and remembers the not quite formed me and all the others in between is such a joy—it is a relief to not have to explain myself, to feel the history that flows between us in a thousand remembered experiences, to have the language that friends share—all the private jokes and small secrets—to be with someone who knows all the people in my past and most of those in my present, and who encourages me to be the person I like to be—that is a gift that only friendship can give.  And it means that I can be that unrestrained smart-ass that I like and she celebrates that person. She also recognizes that I am still not so sure about the world and helps me work through my own sense of uncertainty. I am so grateful for that. And for the girl she allows me to be…

My daughters got to see that girl, too. Enjoyed seeing their mom totally relaxed and laughing, poking fun at them and the world, having a blast. I will remember that girl when the long lazy days of summer give way to the whirlwind of autumn and life becomes busy once more. And I will celebrate her.