Nineteen

Today my eldest son turns 19.

Nineteen. I keep looking at that number and wondering how we got here so quickly. Nineteen years ago, I became a mother to this little boy who completely changed the trajectory of my life. I had no idea then what the next nineteen years would hold, or how much motherhood would ask of me, or how much this little person would teach me about love, resilience, sacrifice, fear, courage, and ultimately, letting go.

This birthday is different. For the first time since he was born, I will not see him on his birthday. I will not be able to give him a hug, sit beside him, take him out for dinner, or celebrate him in person. He is down south in the United States, on the other side of the continent and in another time zone, living on a Navy base where I am not even able to send him mail or a gift. And tonight, on his birthday, he will be on training night watch from midnight until eight in the morning. It is a very different kind of birthday than any we have ever had before, and there is a part of me that finds that incredibly strange.

But if I am honest, underneath the sadness of not having him here, there is something much bigger. I am so incredibly proud of him. The greatest gift I could receive as his mother is knowing that he is out there pursuing his dreams and actually taking action toward the life he wants. He isn’t waiting for someone else to make his life happen for him. He is doing it himself. He is making choices, taking risks, stepping into unfamiliar territory, and learning what it means to become his own person. That is not easy, and watching him do it makes me incredibly proud.

When I look back over these nineteen years, I feel an immense amount of gratitude, but I also feel sadness. Not sadness because I miss him, although I absolutely do. The sadness is something a little more complicated. It is the sadness of realizing how much of his childhood I feel like I missed being fully present for, even though I was there. I tried so hard to be present, and for much of it I was, but I was also surviving. There is a difference between being physically present in your children’s lives and having the emotional and mental space to simply enjoy being their mother. I wish I had been able to experience more of the second.

I raised my sons on my own, full time, and it was not by choice. I was left pregnant with a one-year-old, and suddenly I was responsible for two babies while trying to figure out what had happened to the life I thought I was going to have. I had been building a career and a life in New York City, and so much of that disappeared almost overnight. I struggled with leaving that life behind. I struggled with wanting to be a mother under those circumstances. I struggled with my identity and with trying to understand who I was now. I struggled emotionally with even wanting to be there sometimes. I struggled with depression and postpartum issues. I struggled with doing work I didn’t want to do because I needed to provide for my children. I struggled financially, constantly scraping from the bottom of the barrel and trying to somehow give my children a good life when I didn’t have very much to work with. I struggled with balancing my own needs with the needs of two little boys who depended on me for everything.

There were days when I was exhausted beyond anything I knew was possible. There were days when I was angry and overwhelmed and afraid. There were days when I wondered how I was going to keep going, and there were certainly moments when I questioned whether I was doing any of it well enough. I loved my children more than anything in the world, but loving them did not make the circumstances easy. I think that is something we don’t talk about enough. You can be deeply grateful for your children and still grieve the life you lost. You can love being their mother and still struggle with motherhood. You can know that they are the greatest blessing in your life and still sometimes wish that your circumstances had been different. Those things can exist together.

But from the very beginning, there was one thing I knew with absolute certainty. I did not want my children to ever feel that there was something wrong with them because of our circumstances. I didn’t want them to feel that they were lacking because our family didn’t look the way I had once imagined it would. I didn’t want them to carry the burden of choices and circumstances that were never theirs to carry. I wanted them to know that they were loved, that they mattered, that they belonged, and that their lives could be whatever they wanted them to be.

So I did what I needed to do. I embraced the struggle, even when I hated it. I worked through my own shit while trying to raise two little boys. I tried to be as present as I was capable of being. I fought for them, advocated for them, protected them, and tried to create the childhood they deserved. There were education assessments, ADHD diagnoses and medication, school meetings, difficult decisions, financial struggles, and countless moments when I had to figure things out as I went. I even survived a home invasion and an attempted abduction while protecting my young boys. There were things that happened to us that I never would have chosen and never could have predicted, but somehow we kept moving forward.

And no, I did not do it perfectly. I know that. There are things I wish I could go back and change. There are times when I wish I had been more patient, more emotionally available, less overwhelmed, less consumed with trying to keep everything together. There are moments from their childhood that I wish I could go back into and experience differently. I wish I could have sat on the floor and played without thinking about money. I wish I could have watched them grow without always having part of my mind occupied with work, bills, responsibilities, appointments, problems, and whatever needed to be handled next. I wish I could have simply enjoyed being their mother more.

That is the part that makes me emotional now. Not because I believe I failed them, but because I know how much I wanted to give them, and I know how often I was simply trying to survive. I wish I could have had the luxury of experiencing those years without constantly carrying the weight of everything else. But I also know something now that I could not always see while I was living it: the struggle was not the whole story.

It was part of the story.

Everything we went through was leading somewhere. The difficult years became stepping stones along a path that I can finally see much more clearly now. I wanted my boys to become good people. I wanted them to grow into men who did not repeat the mistakes that had been made before them. I wanted them to be better than the generations before them, not because those generations were without good things, but because every generation has the opportunity to learn from what came before and do better. I wanted my sons to know that they were valued and loved, and I wanted them to become men who showed up for people, kept their promises, did what was right even when it was difficult, and understood that strength is not just about being physically strong. I wanted them to be courageous, dependable, compassionate, formidable, and honorable men in this world.

Now, standing on the other side of those nineteen years, I can see the bigger picture in a way I couldn’t when I was down in the trenches. For so many years, I was focused on getting through the next day. I was trying to pay the bills, get everyone where they needed to be, deal with the next school issue, handle the next appointment, solve the next problem, and keep myself together long enough to keep everything else together. But underneath all of that, I could always see something on the horizon. I could see the people I hoped my boys would become. I just couldn’t always see how we were going to get there.

Now I can see the path.

And when I look back at that path, I can also see how many people helped us along the way. I feel enormous gratitude for the teachers, coaches, friends, family members, mentors, neighbours, and all of the people who showed up for my boys and for me in ways big and small. Sometimes the help was practical. Sometimes it was emotional. Sometimes it was simply another good person in their lives who cared about them and gave them something I couldn’t give them myself. I understand now that I was never meant to do all of this alone.

That is something I would say to every parent, but especially to single parents who are still somewhere in the middle of it. Try to step back from the immediate moment and look at your life and your children from an eagle’s perspective. Look beyond today. Look beyond the crisis that feels like it is consuming everything. Look beyond the financial struggle, the school problem, the difficult behaviour, the exhaustion, the fear, and the days when you wonder how you are going to do one more thing. Keep the bigger picture in your mind’s eye. You may not be able to see exactly how you are going to get there, but remember that the years you are living right now are not the entirety of your children’s lives. They are building blocks.

Don’t give up. I know how excruciatingly difficult parenting can be, and I know that sometimes it can feel terrifying. There were times when I felt like I was barely keeping my head above water. But I also believe that raising children is some of the most important work we will ever do. This is God’s work. There is nothing more important than raising children who know that they have a place in this world, who know that they are loved, and who grow up believing that they are capable of becoming good human beings.

You will make mistakes. I certainly did. But your mistakes don’t have to become life sentences. Show your children what it looks like to acknowledge when you are wrong, to apologize, to learn, to change, and to try again. Let them see you grow. We don’t teach our children how to be better by pretending we are perfect. We teach them by showing them what it looks like to be human and still take responsibility for who we are becoming.

And don’t try to do it all alone. Lean on the people around you. Build your village. Build your army. We cannot and should not be everything for our children. It isn’t healthy for us and it isn’t healthy for them. They need other people in their lives. They need guides, mentors, teachers, coaches, and role models. They need good men and good women who can show them different ways of being in the world. Surround your children with people who will reinforce the values you are trying to teach them. Give them a balanced life that includes hard work and a strong work ethic, but also the arts, spirituality, physical strength, health, curiosity, compassion, and connection.

And above all else, remember that this too shall pass.

I know that when you are in the middle of it, it doesn’t always feel that way. The years can feel endless when you are exhausted and worried and trying to hold everything together. But they aren’t endless. They move much faster than you think they will. The little children who once needed you for everything eventually become teenagers, and then young adults, and eventually they walk out into the world and begin building lives of their own.

And one day, you may find yourself where I am today, celebrating your child’s birthday from far away. You may not be able to hug them. You may not be able to give them a gift. You may not even be able to speak to them when you want to. You will look back at those years when they were small and dependent on you, and you may wish you could go back and do it all again, not because you want to change everything, but because you finally understand just how quickly it all goes.

That is where I am today.

My eldest son is 19 years old, and I am celebrating him from thousands of miles away. I won’t get to hug him. I won’t get to give him a birthday present. I won’t get to sit across from him and watch him blow out candles. Instead, he will be somewhere on a Navy base, in another time zone, doing night watch from midnight until eight in the morning.

And somehow, I am okay with it.

Of course I wish he were here. Of course I wish I could hold him for a few minutes longer, because there is still a part of me that remembers him as that tiny little boy who needed me for everything. But I also know that the goal was never to keep him there. The goal was to raise him well enough that he could eventually go out into the world and build a life of his own.

So today, underneath the ache of missing him, I feel an enormous amount of gratitude.

I am grateful that I got to be his mother. I am grateful for every year, even the ones that nearly broke me. I am grateful for everything he has taught me. I am grateful for the people who helped us. I am grateful for the woman I became because I had no choice but to become her. And I am grateful that I get to watch my son become the man he is meant to be.

Nineteen years ago, I had no idea what I was doing. I only knew that I loved this little boy and that I would do everything I could to make sure he knew he was loved, valued, and worthy of a good life.

Today, I look at him and I realize that somewhere along the way, the little boy became a young man.

And maybe this is one of the hardest and most beautiful parts of motherhood. We spend years giving our children roots, protecting them, guiding them, teaching them, and trying to give them a strong foundation. Then, eventually, we have to stand back and watch them use that foundation to build a life that doesn’t revolve around us.

That hurts.

But it is also the point.

So happy 19th birthday to my son, wherever you are tonight. I wish more than anything that I could hug you. I wish I could celebrate you the way I have every other year of your life. But if this is what your life looks like because you are brave enough to pursue your dreams, then I will gladly celebrate you from here.

I am so damn proud of you.

And I hope you always know that no matter how far away you go, no matter what time zone you are in, no matter where life takes you, there is a mother who will always be grateful that she got to be the one who raised you.

Happy birthday, my son.

Nineteen years ago, you made me a mother.

Today, you are making your own life.

And I couldn’t be more proud.