November 13, 2023
Two weeks ago, we sat, just a few feet apart, watching each other cry. My youngest child and only daughter and I are in a this emotional moment because we love each other very much but, this evening, we are struggling to be what the other needs. This conversation has been coming for weeks, me hurt and her frustrated and neither of us able to say aloud how we feel.
They call it the sandwich generation, people in the middle of raising their children and caring for their parents. The term congers images of stressed-out, middle-aged adults impossibly trying to meet the needs of too many people and having nothing left for themselves. I was in the sandwich generation. But, the sandwich was pretty damn tasty! Think freshly made chicken salad on a flaky croissant or maybe a hot Reuben with lots of swiss cheese and extra Russian dressing -- whatever it is, it was a sandwich I craved. I was in the middle of a beautiful chain of maternal love and support. I had been in an extremely close and supportive relationship with both my mother and my daughter for many years.
I knew, of course, that changes were coming to our relationship. She was going off to college and though she would be nearby, she would have a whole new world to explore and I wasn't going to be part of that. I knew the routine; I had already done it with her two older brothers. Don't get me wrong, I knew it was going to be tough, I was going to miss her, but I would adjust quickly and a new normal would set in. I just could not anticipate how much I would need her once she was gone.
Just 46 days after she moved to college, my mother drew her last breath. The diagnosis of pancreatic cancer was a shock and the rapid decline was horrendous. I spent most of those 46 days in my home state of Mississippi caring for my mother.
My mom was only 76 and in the two years before her death she had many health challenges but nothing had changed our several-times-a-day phone calls or our visits to one another. In fact, she had helped throw the graduation party just a few months before.
When I returned home from the funeral, I felt lonely for the first time in my life. A link was missing and the chain was broken. Where I had previously received feminine love, energy and support from both directions, now there was only one. And, that one was BUSY. My daughter is an honors engineering major at one of the top engineering schools in the nation. She studies constantly, pledged a sorority and has a boyfriend. There are scant few left over moments of time.
My frequent queries, "Do you want me to pick you up for a cup of coffee?", "Would you like to grab dinner?", "Are you coming over this weekend?" and "How long will you be here over Thanksgiving?" are stressing her out. Yes, she loves me and yes, she wishes I weren't hurting but every time I ask, it makes her feel bad. She simply does not have the time to fill the hole her grandmother left behind. There are not enough hours in the day. We talk on the phone daily, she visits at least once a week and that is all the space she has available at the moment. She is getting resentful and I feel hurt.
So, we sit on the couch and say aloud what we need from the other. We cry as we talk of our own pain and recognize the pain of the other. I am the mother and it is my job to meet her needs. I promise to stop regularly asking her to things so she will have the emotional space to navigate her busy life without the burden of guilt. Our relationship will be long and this is just one transition of many we will make. The crucial matter here is that we are open in our communication. We say the important words, "I love you" and then we get up and get started on her laundry.