Dear future lights of my life,
I am writing this letter now so that no matter what happens I can, hopefully, remember what it is I meant to accomplish by committing to the act of having children. (Which, shocking though it may be to some of you who I *know* read this, I do plan to do by the age of 30, no later than 32).
Liz’s mom says that we don’t make the same mistakes our parents did, we make different ones. That sticks with me, and I’m writing this collect my thoughts because I hope it will help alleviate some of the pain I am feeling now. I watched my family fall apart, slowly and painfully, and I watched every member of it give up on us at some point, which, for a child (even a grown one) is one of the most painful things imaginable. There is damage done to me that I believe is permanent, that can never be undone and that I will have to live with forever - but at least I can channel it into self-awareness as a human being and a mother, and it can have some positive impact on the world. It’s comforting that my own wounds can come to some good.
Everyone says parenting is hard, that nobody knows how to do it, that it’s terrifying, and all of the things I think they kind of fabricate both as a mix to keep teenagers from doing it and to justify their own mistakes. As I look down my own road to that eventuality, I see it quite differently. It seems that I know, if not exactly how to do it, then exactly how not to do it. And that’s something. So here I’ve written something - I call it a letter but it’s more a collection of promises to you, to my children who are not even ideas yet, whose shapes have not even begun to form in the mind of the universe yet - because I need to know that I can always have this to look back on, with you one day, and make sure I am keeping all my silent promises to you.
Liz and I have talked about this, and you can assume that these statements are “we” statements just as much as they are “I” statements.
I promise that, no matter what, you will never have to wonder if I love you. I promise you that I will never make you wonder if I will be there from one day to the next, or how long I will be sticking around this time. I promise to raise you with love, humor, kindness, and patience. I promise you that whatever happens between your mother and I, you will never believe it could have been your fault. I promise you that I will always be your mother and you will always be my child, even when you are 50 years old, and I will never expect you to take care of me emotionally. I promise that you will never have to spend time covering my mistakes. I promise that the safest place in your life will be our home, for as long as there is breath in my body to make it that way.
I promise to tell you that you are beautiful because I have not seen you yet but I know you are the most beautiful human being God Himself ever conceived of. I promise I will not let you forget that even when you are in high school and kids are awful. I promise that I will never berate, belittle, or ridicule your dreams. I promise you that your mother and I will do everything we can to make those dreams within reach for you, and teach you how to get to them. We will encourage you no matter what, and praise you enthusiastically for every small success, even if your choices are not what we would have chosen ourselves. I promise you that I will remember that, no matter how small you are, from the moment you learn to speak you have a voice, an opinion, and a personality that is valid and unique, and I will treat you accordingly. I promise that I will never get so wrapped up in my own troubles that I can’t see yours; I will never be too far away to talk to, and I will always do my best to understand what is going on in your life.
I promise you unconditional love. I promise to believe in you without compromise. I promise to be completely in awe of your talents, which will be different than mine and which I may not understand, but which I promise to see as valuable, important, and valid. I promise that no matter who you bring home, I will still love you just as much. I promise that no matter what you do, I will still love you just as much. I promise that I will always remember that I am the adult, that you are the child, and I will not blame you for my own mistakes.
I can’t promise you that you will somehow escape childhood without pain, or that your mother and I will never fight, or even that things will not change in our family. But I can promise you that whatever happens, I will lay down my life to keep you safe as best I can. I promise you that even if the world ends and your mother and I split up, we will do our best to see past our pain and be adult enough to be civil when you are involved, because our love for you is one thing we will always have in common.
I promise you that even though we may not have much, you will always be comfortable and taken care of. I promise that even if we have next to nothing, your mother and I will have been financially responsible enough to save money, so you can be well-educated and go to the college you want to go to. I promise that I will never use money or privilege as emotional blackmail. I promise that your mother and I will teach you, through knowledge and through example, financial responsibility from a young age so that you will not find yourself in trouble when you leave home. I promise I will never ‘cut you off.’
I promise that, no matter what happens, no matter how bad things get, the vow your mother and I are going to swear before God and before our families is something I value at the same level as life itself and I will fight for it and I will never give up on it, I will stay and fight, and I will fight until there is no strength left in my body; I promise you that you will never have to watch your parents give up on your family.
I can’t promise you that life will be happy. I can’t promise you that you will have no pain. I can’t promise that I will not hurt you or make mistakes. I can promise that I will. But you will never, ever, ever, have to wonder if I love you.
November 29, 2007 at 6:39 pm
I know I haven’t met you yet, and where I live is not the place to be if you’re avoiding the “children of the corn” as you stated in one of your entries. I’m a friend of Jerry’s an extended aunt of Lizzie’s and a self appointed responder in the virtual world. I was intrested in what you wrote in this letter. I have two children now age 27 and 25 both boys, and a niece that might as well be mine who is 30. I have loved only one person enough to be open fully with him and I met him at 15 years old. My niece tells me, in between her constant texting, emailing, and cell phone rings, that this 35 year relationship means that I have no standing to comment on other relationships. I think that’s crap. Gus and I will have been married for 32 years soon, but that doesn’t mean we’ve had 32 blissful years without questions, regrets, temptations and other upheavals. Recently a friend told me the reasons her son is getting a divorce and I thought,”That sounds like years 7 and 13 of my marriage.” Did I mention I’m verbose? Anyway — I’d like to say that based on my life - I don’t think that unconditional love exists. I think it’s like the quote about courage that says that courage is not the absence of fear, but the ability to function with fear. I think love is like that - if you set yourself up to love anyone or anything unconditionally, it becomes like relative ethics - the line constantly shifting and you ignoring the moves. I love my family and my friends, but not unconditionally. The trick, particularly as a wife and mother, is to work through those times when people are intrinsically unloveable. I think the only way unconditional love works is for a sprint - like that appallingly bad story that was immersed into 70’s culture “Love Story.” “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” That could work in the sort term, but I guarantee that over a few decades - it’s a losing proposition. Ask Jerry, she might even admit to an “unloving” moment or two with Lizzie, to whom I have no doubt she’d give unconditional love if such a thing existed. And for lyrics on having a child - check out old school - the original Carole King “Child of Mine” from her Carnegie Hall Concert CD. Hug your two cats and one loved one - I’ll hug my two dogs and hope my loved one makes it home soon.
Susan -
November 29, 2007 at 10:12 pm
Hi! I appreciate the comment AND to know that I have an audience - it’s nice to know someone’s out there in the void
I understand what you’re saying, my grasp of relativism comes from politics but is fairly solid and I do recognize the danger here in philosophical and ethical terms. I also am glad for the heads-up, reality-check, and any/all parenting advice I can get at this point.
That said, however, I can say (and hopefully trust you will take it respectfully) that I almost completely disagree with you.
To be fair, parenting of all things is an issue I am somewhat sore and, I’ll admit, self-righteous about; when I say Washington State is my home, I mean that in the most literal sense - I was mostly raised by the Washington State Dept. of Social Services and I’ve had my share of pretty solid examples of what NOT to do in terms of child care.
Errors and mistakes are everywhere - Jerry was absolutely right when she said we all make mistakes, just different ones; and since I’ll say that I’ve had the “benefit” of seeing lots of different types of mistakes, I know a lot of different things not to do.
I may be 23, but it’s a well-educated and pretty deeply experienced 23 (unfortunately, for the most part - I’d trade most of that experience for naivete in a heartbeat) - and I can tell you, that though it may be an error in its own rite, I am 100% certain that I would rather err on the side of loving too much than loving conditionally, threateningly, not enough, or not at all.
Unconditional love does exist, and the argument I take with your discounting of it is in your definition. Take my parents for example (biological, not foster, chosen, or otherwise): I love them, unconditionally. What makes the love unconditional is that it can exist simultaneously alongside all other types of emotions - anger, fear, sadness, confusion, even hatred (some argue, in fact, that true hate can only exist alongside true love, but that is another story). This type of love, I believe, is what exists where it is not offered but created, given and not volunteered - the only human relationship of this sort being between parent and child. And I would say, perhaps even stronger, between mother and child (oddly enough, where I had most of my problems growing up). One of the things my mother said to me when I was little was this: “Even if you kill someone and go to jail, I will always be your mother and I will always love you.” The ability to separate the actions from the human being, the inability to withdraw love because it is part of the contract of the relationship, that is unconditional love. Regardless of the other emotions that exist alongside it - love will also be there amongst them. And I imagine that if put this way to Jerry, she would not be able to think of a time when she did not “also love” Liz.
I post a lot of lyrics to my blog (I hope you like them!) - but not because I speak in cliches or believe in them, but because I have lived a life that at times has been so utterly devoid of beauty that I make it where I can find it; I will see out the poetry on the bathroom walls, and I will listen for it in song lyrics, and I will collect it all here for you (and anyone else who cares) to read. Don’t worry though - I don’t buy for a minute the stupid lines about what love does or doesn’t mean. The trail of broken relationships behinds me and the one good one I’ve found and am in now have taught me that, and I’m happy enough to define it, redefine it, and keep redefining it myself.
I hope I explained myself a little better - and if not, then as always on matters that deal with personal or existential philosophy, I am happy to respectfully agree to disagree.
-AMR
November 30, 2007 at 5:04 pm
O.K. so I was going to let it pass, but did I mention I’m opinionated and verbose? You changed the rules of the game. When love exists with a concurrent feeling - like when love and anger are felt - that means there are existing conditions. To me love is not an isolated emotion above all else that doesn’t get in there and mix it up with other emotions. I thought it did at one point in my life. While I can’t begin to imagine the pain and desolation you experienced in the foster system, I have faced losing my mother literally and my father in almost every other sense. I feel as if you’re compartmentalizing love from other feelings. Right now, although I love my dad and the part of him that is also a part of me. I also hate my dad for things he chose when my mother was dying. My love is not absent, neither is it unconditional. It exists as part of the whole. I can tell you exactly how my older sister, a Lutheran minister would explain it - I’m not as comfortable with the absolutes of Christian dogma as she is — Rev. Christy would say that unconditional love is a goal, but is only attainable by Christ. That part of you that is “Christ like” can aspire to unconditional love, but the human element in you will prevent you from acheiving it. Jerry, who is far more comfortable with the components of faith, would probably explain it that way also. I have trouble with faith. Even faith in my family and friends, let alone in an unseen God. It’s funny because I recently visited the church here where I was confirmed, married and my older son was baptised. I was remembering that on my essay exam for confirmation classes I wrote a long rambling diatribe on the bible being no more than a different group of stories like Edith Hamilton’s Mythology. I also said I didn’t believe in becoming a member of an organized church. My mother’s reply after meeting with the pastor was “we bought you a new dress, you will be confirmed on schedule.”
Anyway, I have to go pick up a friend at the car rental place and then swing by and get her kids. This is exciting because I just got my first official old lady car. It’s a Chrysler 300 and I love it. The only problem is that it’s dark blue. I have driven red cars for the last 13 years and Jerry can tell you that I’m notorious for getting into the wrong car. Now without even the red as a clue - I wander parking lots with my remote. So I really compleatly thrilled to agree to disagree - and am very appreciative for that respectfully you threw in.
Auntie Susan