When our four daughters all still lived at home and life was full of disappointments and drama, I knew what to do to ease the pain. An extra book, a trip to the park, ice cream with whipped cream, a special art project, a longer snuggle. I couldn’t make the pain go away, but there were things to do. I was a master at reframing and our kids often believed me. 

• We can’t go to the park for your birthday because it’s raining, but we’ll get a quilt and have a picnic on the living room floor.
• You’re sick and can’t go to a sleepover. Let’s pick a show to watch and eat in front of the TV.
• The Tulip Time parade is canceled. Bummer. Tulip Time comes every year. Let’s count how many more parades you will go to before you go to college.
  

There were plenty of opportunities for easing pain with four young daughters. Friends made plans and excluded one. Another struggled with math. Boyfriends came and went. One dressed for the game but sat on the bench. One hoped for a part in the play and didn’t get it. I couldn’t fix any of those disappointments, but I found ways to say, “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m here for you.”

Now our daughters are all married and living in places not close to us. This has been a bad year. They have faced surgery, a struggling marriage, anguish over today’s political climate, debilitating headaches, upcoming job loss. No amount of ice cream helps any of these issues and I’m not close enough to scoop. 

Instead I lay awake at night and worry. I know all about prayer and leaving it all in God’s hands, but I’m their mom and I grieve their pain and my inability to make it better. There is such sadness when I know a heart is breaking and I am helpless to ease the burden. And adult children’s issues include a bit of a dance. 

I do lots of self-talk when I talk to them. “Don’t give advice unless they ask for it. Never suggest ‘I told you so.’ Listen and don’t jump in with my own similar issue. Keep their worries about us, their aging parents, to a minimum by sharing only what is necessary (and facing potential wrath for that decision). Don’t say anything that might hint at a need for guilt. Lead with love.”

I do call often, making sure each daughter knows I love her unconditionally. I tell them I pray for them, but do not imply that will actually solve anything. I work hard at listening and asking careful questions. Then off the phone, I hold their angst in my heart like a bowling ball, heavy and unmoving. I am thankful for my husband, a more practical thinker who wisely tells me to worry less about things I can’t control. To me that is like saying, “Don’t breathe.”

I visit and help when I can because that is something concrete. I keep baking cookies and sending cards and offering childcare. I text and call, remembering the stressors in their lives. I can do these things, but I can’t take away their anxiety attacks, circling minds, stressful interactions with others, job conflicts, kid issues, closing colleges. I can’t change the politics of our country. I can’t make their children get along or understand writing assignments or math. 

I wonder sometimes how mothers in the Bible did it. Did Mary wish Jesus had just been an ordinary man with a wife and kids? 

Did the mothers of the disciples think, “Why don’t you just stay home and fish and take care of your family? You have a dangerous life. The authorities do not like your boss.”

Did Paul’s parents wonder if he had a split personality? And then wonder about his safety. “Son, why are you doing this if you know you might go to jail?”

I think I knew this was coming when I signed up for kids. And I want to know what is troubling my adult children. Looking back, in so many ways, I didn’t really tell my parents much. It seemed they had enough to think about and phone calls cost money. I called once a week at most. I wrote letters, but it was easy to screen and sugarcoat. Now I know about the doctor’s appointment, the scan, the meeting at work, parent-teacher conferences. Easy communication is a double-edged tool when it comes to worry. We know more and faster, but do we always want to know?

The other side, of course, is I get the ultrasound picture of the new baby right after it’s taken. I read in a text, “The presentation went well. Yay!” I hear about a recipe that turned out great and I get a picture of a pet, generating family love and humor. I get to hear what our three-year-old granddaughter said at breakfast. 

I know all the right intellectual answers for a Christian mom. Pray without ceasing (and I do); leave it in God’s hands because he cares for them and you (I believe that; I truly do); and it will all work out (not always). 

In the last year, I am grateful (and feeling a bit of FOMO) for times our children turn to each other for support and we are last to know. It is heartwarming and bittersweet. I won’t live forever, and I am better at sympathy than wise words. The fact that they are caring for each other makes me cry. They love each other and it shows.

I wish I could worry less and truly believe all will be well. Fewer sleepless nights would be appreciated too. But what sustains me is that this angst is born out of love. I wouldn’t give that up for anything.

Ultrasound photo by Samuel Lopez Cruz on Unsplash