Mother's Day

A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials, heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine, desert us when troubles thicken around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts. - Washington Irving



I am blessed on this Mother's Day to have the privilege of celebrating both having a wonderful mother and being a mother to a precious daughter.   I thank God for my relationships with both.

The last few weeks at work, I've needed to spend quite a bit more time with one of my clients in particular.  She's one of the few females at CONREP, and even though she is older than I am, in many ways she seems younger than Rebecca.  Her voice and mannerisms are like a very young child, and her thought processes aren't much more mature.  This client has become very attached to me, and I have found myself worrying about what will happen to her after I am gone.  I'd like to pretend that the reason she feels connected to me is because I am such a stellar therapist and that my psychodiagnostic and therapeutic skills were responsible for the change in her.  The actual work I do with her is very different though, and it is the kind of work that one usually gets from a mother and certainly does not require a Ph.D.  I spend a lot of time teaching her about what is socially appropriate, how not to give the wrong impression to men who might be wanting more from her than just dinner, the way to budget her money so that she makes it through the month without needing to barter, talk with her about the choices she is making in her life and how they are getting her to where she wants to be, and provide her with empathy when she recently had her heart broken.  I recently allowed her to go on a weekend pass to visit with her actual family; when I got to work the next day, I had a phone message from her telling me that she had made it back to her board and care safely and thanking me for letting her go. 

As sweet as this all sounds, this naive client also has a severe and persistent mental illness and pretty long rap sheet that includes a violent crime.  To most people, she's a scary, crazy, dangerous woman.  I've worked with her extensively processing that crime (okay, that's not exactly something most mothers do), and although it is hard for me to stomach, I also know how her history contributed to her commission of that crime.  She never had a real mother or father, and as a result, she never really developed the ability to make connections with people.  Fundamentally, she never learned how to love, because she was never taught love. This has been evident throughout her life in her relationships with men and the offspring she procreated.  I have thought of her so much this past week, thinkign about how different her life would likely have been if she had been born into a family that loved her, cared for her, protected her, and taught her the things she needed to get by in life. 

I think of her experience and contrast it with my own and with Rebecca's and am struck by the importance of my job as her mother.  Last night, Rebecca fell down the stairs.  Everyone in the house rushed to gather her into our arms, fawned over her boo-boo, wiped her tears, snuggled her close, and crooned words of love to her.  Soon therafter, the boo-boo was forgotten with many kisses and snuggles while watching tv.  I grew up in much the same way.  No hurt was trivialized.  Every accomplishment was lauded.  I have been surrounded by love my whole life, and my goal is that Rebecca's will be the same.  Rebecca asks Ramy and me to snuggle her in bed every night, while he shares coffee ice cream with her.  She prances around to show Ramy whatever outfit she is sporting that day and is consistently assured that she is beautiful.  She pats my face and kisses me to tell me she "nov"s me before I leave for work and believes that my kiss and a Hello Kitty bandaid can cure all that is wrong in her world.  She knows she's secure and loved. Rebecca believes the world to be a good, safe, happy place, because she has never experienced anything else. 

One day, I hope that she will have a little girl (or boy) and will surround her (or him) with the same love and adoration that she has received.  Indeed, I already see a glimpse of it in the way she cuddles her Zhu Zhu pets and sings to her baby dolls and strokes my face and kisses me if I have a headache.  On this Mother's Day, I am celebrating love as the best tradition handed from one generation to the next.