Our only daughter is preparing
to present us with her first child, our fourth grandson. He could even arrive
on our 38th wedding anniversary on October 1, although we all like to have our
own day so I won’t blame him a bit if he waits.
They live in Calgary. Though I
am looking forward to flying out and helping after the baby comes, I haven’t
been able to watch Mindy change shape or walk the duck-waddle to which most
pregnant women inevitably resort. I’ve missed shopping for maternity clothes
and the baby shower. I didn’t get to see the nursery being prepared.
All of this has made me
nostalgic and a bit melancholy. There’s something about your children becoming
parents that’s both exciting and sobering. You fear for them as you consider
the multitude of things that need to go right (and usually do, but still.) You
understand the deep joy and love this child will bring to their home, but also the
hard-to-define ache that comes with it. You love them so much, it hurts. You
try so hard but often fall short. You’re bringing a brand new helpless little
person into a broken world, a world that could easily chew them up and spit
them out.
When you consider the absolute
vulnerability and helplessness of a newborn, isn’t it a miracle that any of us
survive? We are completely at the mercy
of our caretakers. And as caretakers, not a one of us will ever be everything a
child needs, no matter how great our parenting.
I’m confident my daughter and son-in-law will be terrific parents. They already make a great team and have
plenty of love, compassion, and common sense. Most of all, they acknowledge
their own need for strength and direction from God for the journey.
When Mindy graduated from high
school and left for a year in Europe, I remember feeling panicky . “Wait!” I
wanted to say. “You can’t go yet, I haven’t done enough, taught you enough,
loved you enough!”
Those thoughts led to a piece of
poetry I wrote for her and which somehow seems appropriate to share now, as we
celebrate handing off the parenting baton to another generation.
Have I Loved You Enough?
Have I loved you enough? I
wonder
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| Photo Credit: Ryan Monson |
as I push you out into the cold,
cruel world
screaming and wet
For nine months I have carried
you inside me...
but have I loved you enough?
Have I loved you enough? I wonder
through the dark nights of
rocking, feeding, changing
the busy days of playing,
teaching, training
I push you out the door to
school,
entrusting you to the care of
others
working hard to pay your way...
but have I loved you enough?
Have I loved you enough? I
wonder
as you struggle for your
freedoms
to do your own things, have your
own friends
choose your clothes, drive a car
do weird things with your hair
to love a boy, to follow your
heart
I push you to choose what you
know to be right...
but have I loved you enough?
Have I loved you enough? I
wonder
as I push you out into the cold,
cruel world
Longing to hold you back
close to my heart, close to
myself...
but have I loved you enough?
The answer, of course, is
No, I have not.
For I cannot.
I am an imperfect human
And you were designed by your
Creator
to be loved perfectly
As only He can,
as only He does,
as only He will...
...forever.
Beautiful poem, Terrie. I can feel and hear your mother's love. But, no, you haven't loved her enough. Yet. You have much more love in you to share. Love doesn't decrease in God's economy; it grows. I can tell you've made a wise and huge investment in your whole family so far. Enjoy every moment you can spend with your daughter and her newborn son.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Clarice!
ReplyDelete