Gratitude

Children are the living messages we send to a time we will not see.

~John W. Whitehead

Extra-long twin sheets, comforter, pillow, laundry soap, boxes of granola bars and snacks loaded miraculously in the trunk of my small car. My son, Matt, celebrated his eighteenth birthday a few weeks ago and now we are driving him to college. I feel proud. He won a scholarship, participated in sports and did it all without succumbing to the many temptations facing teenagers today.

It happened somewhere between unloading the car in the college parking lot and the hug goodbye. The separation. My son, no longer mine solely, now another member of the human race. The job of watching over him now rested on the shoulders of the world.

It’s a moment just like any other, but the silence marks this one as profound. Driving home in the car without his voice, his presence. That is when it hit me — gratitude, from the depth of my bones to my goose-bumped flesh. Gratitude for being a stay-at-home mom. This was the day it counted — the dirty diapers, the late nights when he was sick, his first days at school, homework, all of the inside-out grimy socks, the cold bleachers, his messy room, and the fender bender. It all led up to today. I am grateful for all the times I stopped and listened and all the moments in between. Especially those.

When I got pregnant I assumed I would be a working mom. I liked working and climbing the corporate banking ladder and I felt that I could continue with my plan even with a baby. But you know what they say, “The best laid plans often go astray.” Three days before my due date, I began to have contractions. It took another day and a half before my water broke. Forty-two hours later, and after three hours of pushing, my son arrived right on schedule, forever changing my world.

The doctor placed my beautiful boy in my tired arms. The feel of him, warm and comfortably heavy, wrapped tightly in the soft pale-blue blanket caught me by surprise. Feelings of wonder and a tremendous love overwhelmed me. I wanted to protect this little piece of heaven forever. He looked at me with big brown eyes and said wordlessly, “Hi Mom, don’t you want to spend every minute you can with me?”

My heart responded with an intensity that surprised me. “Absolutely!” A wave of motherly love flooded through my body, rearranging all of the plans I had made, in just a moment’s time.

“And just how will we make this work?” my mind asked my heart. “We need to get Dave (my husband) through his last year of law school. How will we pay the bills and who will cover our medical and dental plans?”

The entire silent conversation took place in the time it took Dave to walk from the chair a few feet away to my side. “How am I going to tell him that I do not want to return to work?”

“Wait, there will be a right time,” my heart offered. “Do not worry, it will all work out.”

After eight weeks of mothering, walks in the woods, late nights of rocking and a surprising number of dirty diapers, I returned reluctantly to my job as a branch manager of a bank. I never found the time to broach the subject with my husband. Two more months went by, our bank went through a “buy-out” by a larger national bank and I began to hear rumors of cutbacks.

“Just be patient,” my heart said on those days when I cried the entire way to work. My desire to be with my son and watch him grow became more urgent with each passing week. “Have faith! It will all work out since you desire it so,” the twinkle in my baby’s eyes seemed to say.

Three months later my boss stopped by my branch to meet with me. Butterflies in my stomach alerted me that something big was coming.

“We are going to close your branch. The new bank feels that this branch is not needed, with the larger one only a mile away. You have two options: walk away with a six-month severance package, insurance and pension, or apply for any other open position within the system.”

“Wow, I’ll have to think about it,” I replied with my best poker face, knowing full well which option I would choose.

“Oh, and you have thirty days until we close,” she added.

Around the same time, my husband got an early offer for a great opportunity in upstate New York. This meant my severance salary would take us right up until his new job started.

I watched my son’s first steps, encouraged his first words, witnessed his first soccer goal, bandaged his cuts, dusted him off after he fell, and greeted him at the bus every day. After a few years we had another boy, Mitchell, and I renewed my resolve to stay home. Despite the fact that it was not always easy, I never wavered, never doubted the silent commitment I made to both children to be there.

This inspired me to think creatively and to build work around my children’s schedules. I ran a small interior design business from my home for the first nine years. The birth of my second son also inspired me to begin teaching yoga and meditation classes. Eventually I opened a yoga studio, working mother’s hours of course, with the goal of helping people release stress and live healthier, happier lives. A number of my teachers are stay-at-home moms, desiring to contribute something to the world while raising their children.

I have five more years of moments to savor before we reach this milestone for Mitchell, our youngest and I intend to make the most out of each and every one of them.

~Kaye Khalsa

http://www.chickensoup.com/