The Future

Photo by Hadija on Unsplash

I have this reoccurring daydream (premonition? spiral?) about my daughter and I. She’s an adult and we’re sitting together with her therapist on a plush couch. My daughter is comfortable. She has a pillow on her lap and her shoes kicked off. I’m uncomfortable-anxious but willing and open. They’ve just informed me that my daughter has some things she’d like to get off her chest in a “safe environment.” I make a quick mental note-Nice Job. I’ve raised a child who seeks out therapy and feels safe enough to confront me.

It begins.

Daughter: I feel like during my childhood, you were distant or distracted. You just didn’t give me the attention I deserved.

Therapist: Samantha, would you like to respond?

Me: Um. Yes, thank you. Honey, I’m sorry. You’re right. Let’s see, how do I put this…..

When you were three years old I realized I was engaged in a toxic relationship with alcohol. I decided to stop drinking and for an entire year-every single ounce of energy I had went to not drinking. I was distracted, but I hoped that the short term discomfort that you were feeling would be temporary. It would be better to have a sober mom.

When you were five, Covid hit. I was suddenly asked to homeschool you and your brother while I was trying to hold on to sobriety, stay informed and do my part to “stop the spread.” It was normal to turn on the TV at 5p to hear our governor tell us how many people died for the day. I was anxious-my panic attacks returned.

During that time Breonna Taylor was murdered by the police in our hometown. Sadly, it was then I realized my role in systematic racism and oppression. I had work to do.

Shortly after that, I worked at a shelter for unhoused women. This made me question everything about our society and community. I learned more about lack, systematic oppression, profit over people and the harsh judgement that people place upon their neighbors. I stayed awake most nights.

The next year (or maybe during this same time) my dad, your Umpy had a stroke. This was the beginning of many challenging years that would render him unable to do things like use his brain, walk and eat on his own. I was conflicted about who I would be loyal to-my parents or my children. I googled how to be a good daughter to aging parents while still raising kids.

When he died, I lost all track of time and space. My body went through the motions of life. I was doing my best.

Therapist: Nods

Daughter: I remember

Me: As you got a little older, so did I. My estrogen plummeted making me feel deeply depressed.

When I got things worked out (thanks to HRT) I was confronted with the loss of my youth. I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. My skin hung off my frame and it was scarred and spotted, my hair was gray and I hated it (so did you). I had brain fog. I had to think about protein all the time.

I changed jobs a lot. One thing led to another and I followed along until I created my dream job (reading and writing). You were at school during most of this but I know my work sometimes came first.

There was the whole Donald Trump fiasco.

And the gluten free sourdough starter situation.

I felt like a failure a lot. I couldn’t get my next book off the ground. My writing-that I submitted to literary magazines, publishers and more was rejected daily. I thought about this when we rode together in the car. I said “Uh-huh” when I didn’t have a clue what you said.

I’m sorry baby. I’m a mother but also a human. I didn’t know how to separate the two. I still don’t. Please forgive me.

Daughter: The tension in her jaw releases slightly. She knows it’s all excuses. She knows it’s all true.

Me: I should’ve had kids when I was in my 60’s. I would have been smarter and wiser and not in the middle of a 20 year transformation of unlearning and relearning. But things don’t really work that way.

Remember the Noah Kahn song where he sang I’m angry at my parents for what their parents did to them? I think (I hope) I got us out of some cycles-but not all of them.

Daughter: I loved that song.

Therapist: Well, that’s our time.

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My daydream ends with my daughter and I leaving therapy to go to lunch together. We both have baggage-it’s not perfect. But we’re committed to love anyway. I pray she forgives me and the work I did to break habits and become better serves her in ways that my lack of presence could not. Isn’t that all I could ever ask for?

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Let me read your work and talk to you about it!