Parenting with Dead Parents

 

Parenting whilst having dead parents is one of the most treacherous emotional minefields in the human experience. To be a parent after having lost one’s parents is, in hopefully the most healthy way possible, the only way that lost relationship can be regained, albeit in reverse.

My relationship with my daughter is identical to the one I had with my mother. We are too alike; we fight, we snuggle, and we fight again, in a cycle.

My son’s nickname is Pat; because he was born on St. Patrick’s Day. His birth was one of those karmic jokes; throughout my pregnancy, I worried I would have a hard time bonding with him. I could never imagine being the mother of a son; I was the only child to a single mother; mother-daughter bonding was something I understood, and had already achieved with his older sister. But the mother-son relationship was a total mystery. I think that’s why my mother arranged it for him to be born on her favorite day at high noon, with a mop of red hair.

They say the darndest things, these little people, and it can one minute send you down a spiral of deep sadness, and the next, have you laughing. That’s what a recent drive with my 3-year old son was like.

I have a running joke with my kids: I tell them “I don’t love you at all. I don’t think you’re smart or nice.” I do it to elicit a strong response from them, emphatically informing me that I do in fact love them, that they are in fact smart and kind and wonderful people. I like hearing them extol their own virtues, and hey, maybe it’s even good for their emotional well-being as well. I’ll be honest though: I also enjoy seeing the reactions of other people when they hear me telling my kids I don’t love them, and I love how adorably they yell at me in response.

Recently I was putting my son into his car seat and I told him, while kissing him, I played this game. He told me “No mommy, I’m handsome and smart, handsome and smart, handsome and smart.” He altered something I say with my daughter, something I had grown up hearing from my mother, who always told me “you’re pretty and smart, pretty and smart, pretty and smart.” Hearing my son’s iteration was a bit shattering; my mother never got to know the joys of raising a 3-year old boy (there’s nothing quite like it), and worse, she never knew the joys of my three-year-old son.

As I got in the car, I got a little teary and told him “I wish my mom could have met you.” It’s easy to get weepy in these moments, but three-year-old boys being what they are, they can’t last long. Out of the backseat, the rollercoaster of emotion inched upwards.

He doesn’t even mean to cheer me up when I’m feeling down; I’m certain he doesn’t even realize mommy has emotions, nor that they can fluctuate. He just is, he exists, and that in itself is uplifting.

From the backseat, I was given a verbal tutorial about how one can turn a knee into a tushy. “First you put out your leg straight. Then you push the skin together and then it’s not a knee anymore! Now it’s a tushy! A knee tushy!” Can you imagine that — the magic a boy can make with just some extra skin on his knee. The excitement is contagious.

Over the course of that car ride, we had other important conversations, about boogers and vomit and that time he had vomit come out of his nose; a confluence of the previous conversations about boogers and vomit. And soon, the sadness of that “handsome and smart” moment dissipated.

I’ve never really been a fan of roller coasters; that butterfly feeling in my stomach makes me feel sick, not excited. This emotional roller coaster of parenting amidst grief, however old, isn’t for the faint of heart, but then again, what part of parenting is?

 

Published in General
Like this post? Want to comment? Join Ricochet’s community of conservatives and be part of the conversation. Join Ricochet for Free.

There are 3 comments.

Become a member to join the conversation. Or sign in if you're already a member.
  1. Stad Coolidge
    Stad
    @Stad

    Bethany Mandel: This emotional roller coaster of parenting amidst grief, however old, isn’t for the faint of heart, but then again, what part of parenting is?

    Parenting isn’t for wimps, that’s for sure!

    To me, the hardest part was (and still is) backing off and letting our three daughters make their own decisions, which inevitably means making their own mistakes.  It’s easy when they’re little.  But as they become teenagers, they start picking their friends and (ugh) boyfriends.  That’s when the going gets real tough.

    Our girls are now 24, 25, and 26, and I’m proud of all three.  Oh, and don’t blink.  Your daughter will be in her mid-twenties before you know it . . .

    • #1
  2. GLDIII Reagan
    GLDIII
    @GLDIII

    Stad stoled my thunder,

    My two boys are 25 and 23. One is getting married next year, and the younger one is graduating college in a few months. Both will be out of the house, and only return as visitors in a few short months. I did not expect that day would ever happen when they were little, and now I dread it, even though I expected and instilled that they be independent.

    I sort of dread next year as it all becomes quite again…. like it was before they were born.

     

    • #2
  3. Stad Coolidge
    Stad
    @Stad

    GLDIII (View Comment):
    Stad stoled my thunder,

    I’ll give it back if you don’t call the police . . .

    One thing I meant to add to Bethany’s discusion was parenting with and without grandparents.  When I was growing up, I had a grandfather but no grandmother.  Our girls grew up with a grandmother, but no grandfather.

    I don’t know if it means anything, but having two male rolemodels (my stepfather and grandfather) made a difference in my life.  I like to think my duaghters had the same thing, except two female role models.

    I don’t know what Bethany’s situation is, whether or not Seth has both parents living, but I think grandparents have a special role in raising children, other than telling the grandchildren all the bad things their parents did growing up.  Yes, I caught my mother telling our girls about stuff I thought I had gotten away with . . .

    • #3
Become a member to join the conversation. Or sign in if you're already a member.