Nine years ago, I was studying. It's kind of my go-to thing, when life is changing or a big test looms. No wonder Hermione is my favorite Harry Potter character; her motto is "When in doubt, go to the library." Nine years ago, life was changing and a big test loomed. The biggest test, maybe. I found out I was pregnant and expecting a baby. And so I turned to books, which had helped me so often in the past. Except for that blip my first year at college (when I made what my dad likes to call "the Dean's Other List" aka academic probation), I was an honor roll, AP class, straight A student.
Of course studying for motherhood didn't quite work as well as it does for French class, but it didn't hurt. Most of raising children seems to be hands-on, learn-as-you-go kind of stuff. But I remember many things that stood out from my reading. There was some good stuff about mothers and fathers working together and celebrating their different approaches to parenting while agreeing on an overall vision of childrearing. There were some memorable phrases like "Back to Sleep" and "Breast is Best" that became battle cries over the following year. And then there was this: "A mother is like a safe harbor to her sons." I remember reading it (although I can't remember who wrote it) and turning to my husband, who grew up with only brothers, and asking if that's how he felt about his mom. He thought about it for a moment and said, "Yeah, I guess that pretty much sums it up. I know my mom will always be there for me." So I tucked it away for future reference.
As it turns out, I am now a mother of three boys. I had a daughter for 8 months last year, but for the long haul testosterone is king and all my kids stand up to pee. And I have heard that phrase reverberating through my mind over the past nine years. A safe harbor. A place of still waters and docks for boats to anchor. A place where sailors can rest and refuel and restock before heading out again. I am finding it to be a very true picture of my role.
The goal of parenting (or a goal, or maybe my goal?) is to raise little people to send into the world. If we do it right, our kids will head out and start lives of their own and live in their own homes and start their own families. Some day it will be just Chris and I in this little house, with no fingerprints on the windows and no Hot Wheels under the table and just two toothbrushes in the bathroom. Our boys will be like ships in the ocean, or perhaps little canoes exploring mountain streams. They will set off to seek adventure and fortune and love, and I hope that they find it. And I hope they know that they are always welcome to tie their boats up at my dock, to come home for rest and food and hugs.
But even now, I see how I am functioning as their safe harbor. Each day they go out in some way, they go places I can't follow. They go to school and church, they play with friends and visit family. We get very few guarantees in life. What is that expression, death and taxes are the only two things we can count on? Happiness isn't guaranteed. Neither is safety, or friendship, or comfort. I can't promise that they will find good things when they head out our front door. I can only be there, waiting to welcome them home, ready to love them and listen to them and reassure them that they matter.
I had no idea when I read about being a safe harbor that I would become the mother of a son on the autism spectrum. I didn't know the challenges he would face, the barriers he would have to break, the tests and the evaluations and the meetings we would endure. I had no idea how much work was in store for both of us. And I had no idea that through it all, when the speech therapists were asking him questions he couldn't answer and the doctors were looking into all the nooks and crannies of his body and the world was just so loud that he would come to me. I had no idea that my arms would be his source of comfort, that my whispered words would make him safe, that my hands placed just so over his ears would protect him from it all. I do it all, gladly. But boats aren't meant to stay docked. They are meant to sail through the waters, whether they are stormy or calm. So I am a refuge and a push forward as needed.
I had no idea when I read about being a safe harbor that I would adopt a little boy who didn't grow inside my body. I didn't know that I would go to the hospital and bring home a baby whose other mother had gone home empty-handed. I had no idea that I would fall deeply in love with someone I'd never met, that just looking at him asleep in that plastic bassinet would bind my heart to his, that our family could grow from 4 to 5 in a matter of seconds. I had no idea of the feelings that followed as our son's fate was decided by judges and social workers, the uncertainty and the fear and the hurt. And I had no idea that we'd journey down a path that still seems to be shrouded in darkness, the choices we would make about finding his first family and reaching out to his sisters and grandparents. I had no idea that there would be so many people who loved our baby and reached out to hold him, and that always he would look back to make sure I was there.
I have no idea what the future holds for my sons, no way to divine whether they will find love and acceptance outside of our home. All I know is who I am, who I will always be. A safe harbor.
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