Martha and David

The way most Americans measure success, my son and daughter are highly successful.  Martha and David both have demanding careers.  They make lots of money.  They also have children and are good parents.  They don’t have much time for Old Mom. 

I envy my friends whose children live nearby and see them every week.  Martha lives in Naperville, Illinois.  David is in Irvine, California.  I’m stuck here in Garland, Texas. 

I call them on weekends.  David often isn’t home.  His wife says, “He’s taken Adam and Alli to the park.”  If I call in the evening, Martha’s husband tells me she is at a concert with Richard.  Their middle son plays the cello, and Martha spent years taking him to lessons and rehearsals.  I’m pleased that both devote time to their children.   

In March, Martha and David both came for a weekend to celebrate my 83rd birthday.  The big thrill was when Martha’s oldest son, Doug, a senior at Illinois Southern University, didn’t go partying at the beach with his college friends during spring break, preferring instead to come spend a week with his Grandma. 

I can’t expect them to come again soon.  But I did feel a little neglected on Mother’s Day when the day passed without even a phone call. 

I was writing my blog at 6 p.m. when David called.  He had a busy day, starting with serving Lee breakfast in bed, taking care of his children and cleaning up after a party they had last night.  He was ready to make supper, but he found time to call his Mom and say, “Happy Mother’s Day.”     
At 9 p.m., as I was finally washing my breakfast dishes, the phone rang again.  Martha called from a hotel in Kansas City.  On Friday her family drove to Doug’s graduation in Southern Illinois.  On Saturday after the ceremony they packed all Doug’s stuff into their already crowded car for the long drive back to Chicago.  They didn’t get home until 10:30 p.m. On Sunday, instead of a relaxing Mother’s Day, Martha flew to Kansas City to defend her company in an IRS audit.  Exhausted and ready for bed, yet she took time to call and say, “Happy Mother’s Day.”

I wish Martha and David both had easier, less-complicated lives.  Adult children make their own decisions.  I think of my own life.  Not the way I planned it.  Not always easy.  Bad things knocked me down, but no matter what happened, in my life things always turned out better in the end. 

At bedtime on Mother’s Day, after spending the day alone, I turned on the bedroom tv to a repeat episode of “As Time Goes By”.   I pumped up my electric bed, put on my CPAP mask, and pulled up the covers.  Charlie jumped up on the blanket beside me, and the two of us went to sleep, as happy as kittens.