My parents separated when I was quite young—just five years old—while my younger sisters were only two and five months. After the divorce, we moved in with my grandparents, where we spent the next twelve years. My mother, having married young, was pregnant with me by her 21st birthday. Instead of celebrating with friends, she enjoyed a large ice cream sundae. As she embraced motherhood, she had to leave college and work full-time to support us, but living with her parents allowed her to return to school and complete her education, showcasing her ambition and drive.
Returning to school meant late-night classes and a mountain of homework, which took time away from her children. While she juggled a full-time job and her studies, my sisters and I spent most of our days with our grandmother, who was always at home. We missed our mother and craved her attention, making it difficult for us to grasp the sacrifices she was making. As a young child, feelings of loneliness crept in, and I often felt isolated.
Despite the challenges of missing her, I took pride in her achievements. She graduated with honors when I was in second grade, and though I didn’t fully understand the magnitude of her accomplishment, I knew it was significant. I excitedly shared the news with my teacher, mistakenly calling it “Magna colada,” which now makes me chuckle at the thought of a celebratory cocktail for new graduates.
My mother wrote a column for a local newspaper, often featuring stories about my sisters and me. Her column received an award when I was in third grade, and I was thrilled to share my pride with my classmates.
Now that I’m a mother myself, I can empathize with the challenges my mom faced. However, during my childhood, I couldn’t comprehend why she didn’t come home after a long day and immediately play with me. I didn’t see her need to unwind from work, nor did I understand the emotional toll of balancing her responsibilities. Instead, I internalized her short patience as a personal rejection, feeling unworthy compared to the seemingly perfect mothers of my peers.
The misunderstanding strained our relationship. I oscillated between feeling unloved and harboring resentment, often pushing her away. My teenage years were tumultuous; I expressed my frustrations through odd fashion choices and loud music, seeking the attention I desperately needed. Frequent arguments and moments of running away became part of our dynamic.
As I transitioned into adulthood, our relationship improved slightly, especially since we no longer shared a home. Yet, lingering feelings from the past occasionally resurfaced, leading to intense disagreements.
When I turned 26, I welcomed my first child with my husband. My mother was overjoyed when we shared the news, presenting her with a Christmas gift—a bib that read, “Grandmas Give The Best Hugs.” Her excitement about becoming a grandmother rivaled our joy about parenting, and she decided to be called Lala.
On the night we returned from the hospital, my mother arrived early to tidy our home and prepare dinner while holding her grandson. This small act filled me with a sense of love and support that I had longed for as a child. We began to share lunches together, and she would often visit to dote on my son, encouraging me to take breaks for myself.
When my daughter was born a couple of years later, the same loving dynamic unfolded. Witnessing my children thrive in their relationship with Lala has been one of the greatest joys of motherhood. It has illuminated the kind of connection my mother wished to have with me during my childhood, and I feel fortunate to nurture the kind of mother I aspire to be. I appreciate having a grandmother who loves and spoils her grandchildren, always ready to lend a hand.
Understanding that the grandmother my mother has become is the mother she wanted to be has been both healing and bittersweet. Parenting demands everything from you, and I now recognize the limitations she faced.
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In summary, my understanding of my mother has evolved dramatically since I became a parent. The struggles of our past have paved the way for a more profound appreciation of the sacrifices she made, allowing me to foster a loving environment for my children.