Long Distance Mothering

This week I got to be a mother. Oh, I’ve officially been a mother since 1975, but lately, with the boys well-established in their own lives, there hasn’t been much call for my mothering skills.

Wait a second, you’re saying. What about all that baby talk that goes on in your house?

I’ll admit it, I channel my nurturing instincts into caring for Corky the French Bulldog and Mr. Bobo the Wonder Cat. Corky is always ready to cuddle and is ready with a quick lick on the nose. Mr. Bobo has been known to be affectionate on occasion, but only if he is allowed to pick the time, place, and method of expression. Don’t touch the belly, thank you very much.

This week, though, I got a call from my younger son Tom, who lives with his fiance Clare in Indiana. Like the majority of us, he is experiencing hard financial times. He wanted my advice. He did not ask for money. He simply expressed his despair of ever achieving his dream — owning a house and starting a family — when every dollar he earned went to living expenses.

I gave him a pep talk and told him I wanted to pay off his credit card. He gratefully accepted. My gift will provide some temporary relief from the income-to-debt imbalance. It’s a small thing, but I can do it and I’m glad to be able to help. It’s all I can do from 2,400 miles away. I can’t do what I want to do, which is to hold him in my arms and tell him I love him and that even though he is 6’5” and 30 years old, he will always be my baby.

He emailed a thank-you and sent along some pictures of himself and Clare. In the email he wrote, “Have I mentioned I grew a beard and hair?”

No, he hadn’t. Looking out at me from the screen was a stranger with his father’s nose, my smile, and the blue eyes of his Irish ancestors. He had his arms around his sweetheart and he looked so happy it made my cry.

We live across the country from each other, and only see each other only once or twice a year. Somehow our relationship has become so perfunctory that I don’t even have an accurate picture in my head of what he looks like, this child who spent the first six months of his life never more than an arm’s reach from me.

My older son, my Jason, lives only 20 miles from me, but I get most of my news about him from the internet. I learned from his recent blog post that he is home sick, weak and miserable from a stomach bug. I called him to tell him I love him and to warn him about becoming dehydrated. He didn’t answer. I didn’t worry that he can’t get up off the couch; I know that he is screening his calls. Jason is my Mr. Bobo child. He will accept my mothering, but only on his own terms. I am careful not to overdo it.

Tom is my Corky, playful and affectionate. He is always ready for anything; he even happily goes shopping with me when we’re together.

Does motherhood end when the children are grown? Of course not. I am still my sons’ mother, just as I am still my mother’s child. Time and distance have kept us apart, but I hope they know that they are still (and always) the biggest part of my heart.