My in-laws home was so much more than just any-old-house.
Designed and built by my father-in-law, Bill, their retirement home rests upon over 50 acres of land on the banks of Lake Mattamuskeet, a National Wildlife Refuge found 30 miles from the nearest stop light.
The land is full of migratory birds, black bears, and deer, to name a few. Rich, black soil supports vibrant family-owned farmland as far as the eye can see.
My mother-in-law, Betty, grew up in her grandmother’s house next door. They didn’t have electricity until she was 12 years old and used a horse before they purchased a car.
Bill was raised with his large family across the Lake. Ten years apart in age, they met shortly after Betty graduated from high school and the rest is history.
They moved to Chesapeake, VA to give their four children more opportunities and moved right back to retire in Fairfield the second my husband graduated high school more than 30 years ago.
Bill passed away in the home when our oldest, Aurora, was only 4 months old. Betty has remained, ever since.
Yes, this house and its land was so much more than any-old home.
It’s where our little family spent every single Easter and Thanksgiving.
This is where our girls picked figs, peaches and pears in the Summer and grapes, apples and pecans in the Fall.
This is where they learned to ride a 3-wheeler, shoot a gun, and befriend a domesticated deer named Jane Doe.
This is the place my children bottle fed lambs and calves, where we roasted oysters over open fire and dyed easter eggs.
Fairfield Methodist Church is where all four of our girls were baptized. It’s where they listened to their Granny play the piano and received treats for the children’s sermon.
When I close my eyes, I feel the soft wind brush my hair. The air is filled with the scent of ripe figs so visceral, I can taste them. I hear the crunch of the pecan hulls underneath my feet and soak in the stunning sunset over the pier my husband built in the lake.
Yes, this home is more than just any-old-house.
It’s a symphony of senses.
It’s a holder of some of our family’s most precious memories that we will carry with us for a lifetime.
When I tell you I’m having a real time with one of my daughters, I mean I am having a real time.
I liken the reward of raising her to pouring water into a sieve. No matter how much you give, it feels as if nothing is retained.
And thanks to the file I retrieved when cleaning out my dad’s condo, containing every one of my report cards and conference sheets, I discovered just how very similar this daughter is to me, when I was her age.
Now I truly understand just how hard I was to parent (sorry, mom).
There are so many days I feel as if I have nothing left to give while simultaneously feeling guilty for feeling this way about my own child.
Therapy helps (for both of us). So do frequent breaks to refuel my empty tank.
But what to tell myself when I feel hopeless? When it seems nothing is changed, nothing learned?
What is my role?
My steadfast presence.
That I stay. Even when it is hard. Especially when it’s ugly.
That although I seemingly get very little from this current relationship, I remain an anchor for her to hold onto.
That’s it.
I may not see great change now or ever but I remain.
Was I the only one with tears streaming down my face while watching Inside Out 2 in the theater this morning?
I’m not sure but sitting next to my four daughters, this movie really hit home- particularly in reference to our 12 year-old.
Those who know me personally know how attentive I’ve always been of our daughters’ feelings. As a child who often felt misunderstood, I know how important it is for my girls’ feelings to be validated, seen and explored, instead of ignored.
Spoiler alert: the climax of the movie occurs when the emotion Joy realizes that she can no longer simply dismiss undesirable memories and power forward through main character Riley’s puberty ignorant of the arrival of new emotions anxiety, embarrassment, ennui and envy. The lesson that struck deep in my heart was that there was no turning back to the way things were before. Instead, Joy recognizes her need to include the new emotions in order for Riley to feel secure with her true self. It’s a hard pill to swallow- that we can’t just keep acting like everything is fine and BE fine. That when we try to fight anxiety with denial, it only grows. We must learn to live with, around and through it.
Watching my child struggle with growing up has broken my heart into tiny little pieces. I want to fix it for her; the embarrassment the rejection, the shame she feels. And like Joy, I can’t. I watch helplessly as she struggles, knowing that there’s no other way than through.
And yet, the overwhelming emotion I left that theater with was pure and true gratitude. As hard and ugly as witnessing Aurora’s journey to adulthood is, it’s also such an incredible privilege. I have been given a gift- this opportunity to empower and encourage my child. I walked away with more empathy than ever for my daughter and the desire to hug her as long as she would allow. Forever and ever. Inside out.
She was uncharacteristically angry. Snapping at her sisters with venom dripping from her teeth.
Emmett and I looked at one another, eyes wide, silently wondering, “What in the actual hell?”
We chalked it up to stress before a big gymnastics meet. Perhaps she was feeling anxious.
But her seething anger seeped from every crevice until finally, I took her aside and asked, “What is going on?”
And that’s when the dam of tears broke. She broke.
“I’M SAD ABOUT OREO!”
Ohhhhhhhhh. Yes. This makes a lot more sense, now.
6 family members. 1 loss.
So many different coping mechanisms.
Those that grieve obviously and openly (me).
Those that grieve and move forward.
And those that bury and try to cope without ever fully addressing it.
“Harper, trying to contain your grief without openly releasing it is like trying to contain your exploding slime. It will find its way out of its container.”
I encouraged her to write but she didn’t want to. “It will make me sad.”
But you already are sad.
Days later, she finally relented.
She put on the sad music and allowed herself to get washed away in the flood of anguish that is losing a beloved pet.
It’s too soon to know how much it helped but a writer myself, I know it couldn’t have hurt.
New Leaf Parenting 