The relationship between myself and my children is truly symbiotic in nature. We give and take from eachother in ways that only we know. My children and I are close enough that we can finish eachothers sentences, we know what eachother are thinking much of the time and we pretty much like the same things. We feed off each others quirky natures and seem to understand the way the other is feeling, even when we aren’t physically together.
Take, for instance, last year. I was in Texas with my father, helping him and his wife while they went through cancer surgery and chemo treatments. I was, at the time, 1500 miles away from my eldest and youngest children. They had stayed in Colorado with my husband.
One particular morning, I woke up early.I was feeling overwhelmingly sad and couldn’t understand why. I sat down in the dark of the morning and closed my eyes, looking with my inner eyes. I “saw” my apartment and looked in on my sleeping husband, seeing my dog laying on my pillow. I “saw” my youngest, playing on his computer as he was apt to do in the wee hours. Then I “saw” my daughter, curled fetal on her bed, sobbing. She was so unbelievably sad about something and I mentally caressed her arm and she slowly stopped crying. Then she started softly snoring.
About three hours later, I called to talk to her. She was surprised that I called and when I asked her why she had been crying that morning, She told me the reason. Then she asked me if I’d rubbed her arm because she’d felt me. She said I was freaky because I could do that and I laughed, asking her how she thought I knew she needed me. She hadn’t realised that our connection was that strong, that she could THINK about me and I’d “hear” her need.
The connection between the people in my family has always been that way. When my mother was in Colorado and I was in North Carolina, she knew something was wrong the night I almost died. When my husband passed away, she knew before I even picked up the phone.
I remember, as a child, being outside playing and “hearing” my mother call my name. When I’d come inside, I’d ask “Mom, did you call me?” and her answer would be “No, but I was thinking about it. It’s time for dinner” It was always that way.
When I’m asked what I get from my children, I have to smile. They give me so much that it would take a lifetime to tell everything. When I’m sad, they bring me joy that makes me want to live. When I’m angry they are my calming voice. They bring an odd sense of humor to an otherwise grim world. Each brings their own personality and, somehow, they know what is needed and when it’s needed. They each, in one way or another, have saved me from myself. I gave them life…. and they have given me life as well.