When the experts talk about parents and children, they talk a lot about separation, about the child’s gradual distinction of the self from the parent.
What they don’t talk about as much is the parent’s gradual distinction of the self from the child.
This is something I think and talk about a lot. I’ve always thought that the core of good parenting involves respecting one’s child as a child of God – as a brother or sister in Christ. Too often, even the most well-meaning of parents speak of the value of having children involving things like “fulfillment” or “brining me joy.”
Well, children do all of those things, but none of that is a reason to have children, because all of those reasons ultimately revolve around me and my desires and needs.
It is a huge leap – to get to the point at which you realize – and not just intellectually – that your child is not you. At all. If you find yourself resisting this, I’ve always found it helpful to consider the question, “Am I my parents? Do I want them valuing me to the extent that I reflect their identities?” Probably not. And it’s no different for my children.
It’s something that I never really got until my older children (my oldest will be 26 in September. Lord.) started leaving home and doing their own thing – which is hardly ever my thing. Having that experience of older children really changes the way you parent the younger ones, I think. It leads to an odd but perfectly understandable combination of letting go and treasuring. You let go because you know you have to, that they are not you. But you treasure because you know how fast it all goes, and sooner than you know it, the little one who won’t let go of you? Well, you’ll see him twice a year. If you’re lucky.
But even with the experience of parenting older children, the emergence of a younger child’s individuality still surprises. What I’m thinking about tonight, though, isn’t even individuality – that’s obvious from birth. No…it’s the inner life of a child. The revelation of something deeper churning in that head – the beginnings 
of a different sort of self-awareness.
The other night, Joseph and I were looking at a book. It was this one – a flap book about the human body. We were looking at the pages about the heart and the circulatory system and I was explaining to him how the heart works and what was going on when his heart was beating.
He lifted the flaps, looked at the pictures, and considered this. Then he said thoughtfully, “Sometimes, when I take the timed test at school,” – the “timed test” being a drill of 100 simple math problems they’re given 3 minutes to complete – “Sometimes, when I take it, my heart starts beating really fast.”
And he sighed.
And for some reason, I thought that my heart would break.
Such a little thing. A seven-year old just mentioning that he gets nervous before a practice test. But so many things ran through my head. Welcome to life. It sucks sometimes. Just wait. If you think that’s bad..
But most of all it broke my heart because once again, it reminded me of my limited reach. My helplessness.
In a way, it is not fair, this thing that God does. He gives us these little creatures, beautiful and gorgeous, who need us so badly, who need us for absolutely everything, and that is the way he calls us to love them – to give and give and give through sleepless nights and exhaustion and the eventual, shocking realization that if you were called upon to give your life, you would.
WIthout hesitation, without regret.
And then, almost as soon as you get used to thinking and living this way…they start needing you less. And less. And their inner lives, which once seemed one with yours, become, so gradually, their own private place, the place where they wonder and struggle, rejoice and hurt.
Without you there.
It is hard for a parent – perhaps particularly so for a mother. But it points, as everything seems to do, to the importance – the vital importance – of introducing our children to the faithful presence of the living, loving God.
Oh yes, there will be times, to be sure, that your heart will beat fast. So fast. And you might not even be able to breathe. There will be times that there will be no one there to tell about your heart, beating so fast and hard as you face the next thing. And the next. And the next.
Your heart will beat within your chest, you will fumble, unsure what to do next. It’s true.
And it grieves my heart that for most of it, I won’t be there.
Because I won’t. Even now, I see so clearly…I’m not.
But even so, even though I will be long gone, just know this – that you will never – and I mean never – be alone.
Tears, from a home school mom who just went to graduation last weekend and realized next year it is our turn…..
We are like the Mom’s who are putting their 5 year old on the bus for the first time; only worse. Amy, you said it well.
Thanks.
Thanks for this reflection. I happened to read it at 5:30am with a screaming three-week-old in my arms, so yeah.
I’ve had the same thoughts about the reasons many people give for having/wanting children: it shouldn’t be just about me.
Before our daughter was born we had a name picked out. It was the name, the we’d known would be our first daughter’s name even before we were married. But as the time got closer, we realized that name belonged to the child we’d made up, not to any real child, so we gave her a different name–in part to help us remember that she’s her own person.
Amy, I like all your writing, but you’re at your finest when writing about motherhood….maybe your next book?
What a beautiful reflection. This part hit me in particular, as I sometimes struggle with my oldest, a VERY clingy almost-4-year-old:
“But you treasure because you know how fast it all goes, and sooner than you know it, the little one who won’t let go of you? Well, you’ll see him twice a year. If you’re lucky.”
Thanks for the reminder to treasure… because letting go will come in its own time, all too soon.
Great stuff. Thanks so much.
My eldest made his second confession last night and I had thoughts very similar to yours, Amy, as he disappeared into the box by himself. Because you get used with your kids, asking them how art, or football, or school went but there he was going into the box and there could be no questions afterwards.
I have five kids and like everyone, I am in awe and amazement at how God has made them so good. But, in my moments of frustration, anger, or just being moody, I forget that I am the reflection of THE Father and a poor one at that.
Thanks for such a beautiful reflection. It made me think that I have many selfish desires – including wanting to capture the moments of love and innocence that my children have and never let them leave the nest. To see them giggle, to see them cry and run to daddy’s arms. To have them great me at in the driveway all jumping up and down yelling “daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy!”
I don’t want to give up those moments but then, like you Amy, I realize that God didn’t make us to live for our own desires.
Sometimes that hurts.
amy, you nailed it. Thank you for that piece. Great writing should find a home in the heart of the reader. Yours often does. God bless. Thank you.
Thanks for making me tear up already…
And it’s not even Mother’s Day!
My wife (at work) and I (at home) regularly follow your website. We have great respect for the faithfulness to Catholic Christianity which you and your husband manifest. This post was particularly meaningful to me. I am a former Episcopal priest. I gave it up after more than 30 wonderful years of ministry to become a Catholic. Why? Because it is true, as I tell people. I am, as a result, an unemployed 63 year-old! We have three adult children: all bright, healthy and happy in their lives and careers, for the most part. I have felt increasingly that being a father is a great gift of God because, among other reasons, it gives me greater insight into the nature of Our Father’s love for each of His children whom He loves beyond measure and to whom He has given free-will. That our children eventually do not “need” us but need to be themselves, means that I know that love includes suffering; that love means bearing a burden unbeknownst to the child; that love means the lover endures a secret suffering which is an element of the love itself. Being a loving dad, I sense how great is the burden of love which the Father bears because of His love. And, I understand so clearly now that, like the Father, I would have it no other way.
Oh, you spoke to my heart today. You put into words what I have been feeling for this week as my son goes out into the world. Thank you so much for this post Amy! God bless you.
Wow, thank you, Amy. Our oldest, 17, is graduating from high school next month. And joining the Marine Reserves-NOT my thing, then to college to major in psychology (can you believe it? The son of an engineer and a mathematician!) and then become a priest, he thinks.
The eighth and youngest just started walking this month, staggering around like a drunken sailor. We know this stage: next, he’ll march around as if late for an important meeting, and he’ll flush things down the toilet. He tries so hard to keep up with the older ones, and I think I’d like him to slow down and stay a baby for a little longer, but then when he manages something new, he’s so proud of himself! Yikes, how did you get up there?!
Yes, Amy. You’re so right. I read something several years ago that has helped me in my journey as a mother of 4 children – who are all now young adults – “God doesn’t have grandchildren.” He gives them to us for awhile to raise as best we can, but ultimately it is for us to let go and watch helplessly sometimes as they take their own journey, to Him, hopefully. They are not truly “ours” but his. We are like St. Joseph – foster parents in this world, as we try to lead them to their true Father in heaven. His love for them is so much greater than our love for them! These thoughts and realizations bring comfort as my heart tugs and aches sometimes at the letting go.
Amy, right on target! My sons are in the process of leaving the nest, and there are changes happening, both inside and outside. Your words spoke vividly to me. Thank you!
I didn’t get this until my kids had left home. All three flew the coop within 6 months of each other – shouldn’t there be a law against that? But get it I did.
I counted down the years to my sons’ HS graduations with dread not happy anticipation at getting them out of the house like some of my friends. But now that they are mostly on their own, it is gratifying to me to see how well able they are to look after their lives, their choices in girls they date, their proud happiness at living on their own, how happy they seem to be to see us when they visit. That stuff makes it easier for me.
I miss them, but what I really miss is the years when they were growing up, even though I soaked that all up as much as I could in anticipation of them growing up and leaving. I’ve been an involved hands-on mom, but even so…
My youngest will graduate in three years. I already cry a little occasionally in advance. I see her growing independence and I know that this is the way it is meant to be, but still, I’m not ready to be ‘done’.
Beautiful Amy. I’m not a parent, and barring some unforeseen situation, I probably never will be. But you’ve gotten straight to the heart of the matter of life – not just parenthood.
I’m close to my mother, and talk with her frequently, but know that the day is probably not too far away when I will no longer be able to share those secrets, those excitements, those discoveries, as well as the betrayals, pains and angst with her. At least not in a physical, on-the-phone sort of way.
I see the pain in her eyes when I visit…and then go home. Home to thoughts, and activities, and annoyances and joys that are my own. It must be a terrific act of surrender for her – multiplied by my five brothers and sisters. Celibacy may be seen as a vocation of sacrifice, but sacrifice is certainly not absent from the vocation of marriage and parenthood!
But she has – and I’m eternally grateful (no hyperbole!) to her for doing this – taught me how to have that same intimate relationship with God, with Jesus, with Mary and the saints.
Thanks Amy!
Amy, as a very involved, hands on father of 3, soon to be 4, this post really spoke to me. Here I am reading your post at work (shhhhh!) and I get to the part where you son sighed, and I thought I was going to lose it here in the office–glad nobody walked by. And I knew exactly what you were going to write next, and you did, because every time my kids say something like that, I think my heart is going to break too.
I actually come at this with a slightly different perspective than most. My oldest child will be 8 this June, but has a condition called Angelman Syndrome that results in profound mental and physical disabilities. He is completely non-verbal, suffers from seizures (under sporadic control with medication), can’t yet walk independently, and needs full assistance for all daily living skills, including eating, bathing and toileting. He will never be past the cognitive level of a two or three year old. My son will never “fly the coop” one day on his own. He will live with us much longer than most children live with their parents, and even when he does move out, most likely to some sort of group home (we pray for a good one down the road!), we will still be initimately involved with his regular care, until our dying day.
And therein lies the paradox for me. As parents, we feel the pain & anguish of not being able to hold on to our children forever as they exert their independence and learn to live life on their own, even as we pour our heart and soul into making sure they are able to do exactly that. I feel this already with my 3 & 5 year olds, and I know it will only increase as time goes on. But with my disabled child, my fear isn’t that he will one day be independent from me, but that he wont be independent enough; that one day (hopefully far into the future, but only God knows) my wife and I will no longer be here to watch out for him even while he remains completely dependent on others for his care. All the while I am praying to God to slow time down and let me hold on to my younger children a little longer, I’m praying to the same God to please help my oldest become more indpendent. And I know that God understands this paradox far better than I do.
Amy-
Great post. I have sent it around to several friends who are parents. Some of them told me that they shed a tear or two.
There’s a flip side paradox (good word for this, Tom) to the wisdom you have offered, which I also think about from time to time.
There are certainly problems that we as parents cannot solve for our children.
But in other ways, we offer something to our children that we ourselves do not understand—something that goes on in the heads and hearts of our children which we can only guess at.
You know how your younger children will sometimes come to you with tears in their eyes? Maybe they have fallen down on the sidewalk, or maybe they have hurt feelings from a friend or a sibling. And as a parent you take them in your arms and you embrace them, and you tell them that everything will be alright.
Will everything truly be alright? As a parent do you really have the power to heal a skinned knee by kissing it? No. But from the child’s perspective they are healed all the same.
Parents have the power to comfort their children, and of course influence them (and hurt them)—powers that go far beyond the physical laws of cause and effect.
I have often pondered the paradox of my children taking something from me that I did not think I possessed myself.
My friend Marcel pointed me to your post.
Thank you Marcel and Thank you Amy… I sit here with tears down my cheeks so glad that you have put the perspective back into my day.
You ARE a beautiful writer and I second the request for a parenting book from you – I’ll be the first in line to pay up!!
But even so, even though I will be long gone, just know this – that you will never – and I mean never – be alone.
Yes!
I agree with the all the others, Amy: I love your writing, but I love your reflections on parenting most of all.
I feel blessed that I can spend so much time with my young children, and I hope I am driving home that fundamental point I quoted above. I just completed my first year of teaching religious ed to 5th & 6th graders making their Confirmation, and every week I stressed daily prayer, and reminded them to be mindful of the presence of God in their lives. I don’t know if it will stick with them, but I hope I at least planted a seed that can grow and help them through the very, very difficult years of growth they will soon be entering.
Amy, that was amazing. My children range from 7yrs to 2yrs, and you’ve given me lots to think about. Blessings to you and yours on this beautiful Sabbath day.
Deb