A couple of years ago I dropped my now-teen off at the school dance. All the moms arranged to meet before the dance to take pictures of our young people. My kid stood among the forty-some other middle-schoolers whose parents were primping and preening over the kids we meticulously helped to clean up and dress. For a couple moments, I was proud. And then the kids rushed off inside the building to co-mingle with these kids I knew, and peers from other local schools. As soon as I got in the car, I broke out into tears. I spent the next 30 minutes weeping and repeating in my head, “I can’t believe I left my kid with those people.” Those people. You know, other kids.
For the first time, it truly hit me that I could not keep my kid in a safety bubble. As a toddler and grade-school kid, my bigger worries were about physical safety. As a Gen Xer, I worried little about the bumps and bruises and playing outside of my sight line. I kept a First Aid kit in the car and felt like I could handle whatever came down the pike. At this point, I was thinking about my kids emotional and psychic safety. How my kid would feel, dance or not, fit in or not, have fun … or not.
That was when I really understood: I am going to worry about this person for the rest of my life.
I also understood how my mom felt. When I was deep into adulthood, living independently far from home, and parenting a child of my own, my mom was still checking to see if I was okay. In the last weeks of my mom’s life, I was doing all I could to make her comfortable. I was making her favorite foods, making sure her cousins had visited, playing my mom’s favorite music.
One day, sitting at her bedside, I said: “You know, I’m okay. Like, I’m good. You did a good job. We’re great. I’m okay. Your grandchild is okay. We have what we need to make a good life. You’ve accomplished more than you ever thought. I have too. We’re good, Mama.”
And I saw her face relax. Her whole body seemed to exhale. That was what she needed to know to peacefully transition to ancestor-hood.
I’m a fan of tenacity and perseverance. And believing against all odds in yourself and your people. And I’m grateful for all the relatives and friends I have whose hope has taken them far. Until they find peace.
Peace comes in different forms and at different costs throughout our lives. The cost of peace is different for each of us. On my best days, I know what keeps my peace and how to get to it. On many days, I simply know that I am restless. And yes, there’s a reason we must fight for peace and struggle to keep it.
When we come to a crossroads, peace matters. When we have to make decisions, when we are between one state and another, when we make big changes in our lives, it’s good to factor in what will bring the most peace.
I’ve learned – as have many people before me – that if my kid isn’t good, I’m not good. And the same seemed to be true for my mom.
At other points in my life, peace came in the form of friendships, an ordered home, a lack of interpersonal conflict.
I’d like to say that having peace eases grief, loss and change. I hope it does. I also like to think that peace can be found on either side of big transitions. Do you know what brings you peace? Do you know what you need as you navigate transitions?
(Real question – feel free to let me know)
Dr. Monica
