IN-dependence?

July 4, 2013

Today marks America's Independence Day. Parades, BBQs, fireworks displays. Red, white, and blue in every direction. A celebration of FREEDOM.

But I am in a fog. Just a few days ago, my younger son received his driver's license. His indendence is budding while my older son is INside for his IN-dependence day. He is INside a prison cell.

The other day the boys had a visit together. I wrote about it in my last post. I was fearful of it, but it turned out to be a wonderful experience for both of them. My older son has never looked so happy since I've seen him behind bars. And my younger son seemed perfectly at ease with his older brother clad in white state issued attire, telling him his latest bad joke and filling him in on what his life as a busser for a restaurant has been like. It was like they were back at home again.

Only there was a wall of inpenetrable glass between them and they were talking on telephones.

So this Independence day isn't one I'm embracing. I am as patriotic as any American, and I, of course, recognize this holiday's significance, but I am overwhelmed with my boys' new independence and IN-dependence. I wish I could celebrate freedom.

Maybe next year.

Mothers Know: An Evening Out with My Mother

I recently spent a couple of days at the beach with my mom.  She is a mother of three and grandmother of five.  I deeply respect her wisdom, especially when it comes to parenting.  (Well, she did a pretty good job with the three of us, anyway.)

We did some shopping, bought shoes, ate out, went to the nail salon.  Typical mother-daughter fare.  So we were out to dinner; we went to a favorite spot of hers that I'd never tried.  I ordered a fancy drink and we were diving into a delicious appetizer.

Then it happened.  A wave of guilt the size of a tsunami.

I was having fun.  I was having fun and I realized it.  How could I possibly have fun while my son sits in a 6 X 9 cell?  I almost dropped my fork.  She asked,  "What's the matter?"

I told her, "Sometimes I catch myself having fun.  I can't really have fun, Mom.  It makes me feel too guilty."

With wise eyes, my mother responded, "You have to take care of you.  You didn't make the choices he made.  You shouldn't serve his sentence with him.  You deserve to be happy."

I sipped from my cocktail, lifted my fork, and said, "I know, Mom.  I know."  And I tried to resume our laughter-filled evening without the guilt that weighed so heavily on my heart.  I know she knew I wasn't going to find that "fun" place again that night.  I know she knew I was feeling guilty.  I know because she's my mom.  And mother's just know.