Seasons of our lives

A Story by Sandy Miller

Memoirs of a mother

Recently, I sat down with boxes full of memories from the past intent on completing a project that I began nearly 24 years ago. I knew that I would be able to find the perfect things to exactly fit into and fill all of the scrap books and photo albums that I had stacked up around me on the floor. The reason that I knew that I would find all of the perfect things for each page and each book was simply because I had saved all of the memories like so many mothers do. I had every Valentine’s card hand decorated and lovingly sent to “mom.” I had every Christmas ornament that had also been so carefully handmade, every yearly school photo, every poem or story written, letters to Santa Claus and every unique wonderful work of handmade art. I had time to finally complete this project because recently my only child had left home, something I secretly thought would never happen. It seemed very important to me to carefully chronicle all of his memories so that he would never forget and always have them. The glitter attached to all of the lovely cards and ornament’s eventually infiltrated every page of memories carelessly drifting about like a tiny blizzard of sparkling star’s always beautiful. I had compiled these books for him to tell the story of his life so far, saving the memories forever and they did. Flipping through the pages and reliving all of the important memories I came to realize that these books revealed a story not just of his life, they were also a testament to my own life. A validation of the seasons of our lives had been captured perfectly throughout the pages of the books and the story was just as much about myself as it was about him.

I had danced through my twenties carefree just as he does now, relatively sure that I had most of the answers that I would need ahead in life. I had plenty of energy so I didn't need much sleep. I wasn't afraid of very much and my cloth’s draped across my size five frame loosely with room to spare. Just before I reached thirty I became a mother and the seasons of my life transformed bringing with it unexpected change. Selfishness gave way to selflessness and while I needed more sleep I just had less time to get it in. I managed to take care of everyone and everything as much as I could by putting myself last. When I wasn't working or cleaning I was making Halloween costumes, attending school plays, camping with the Boy Scouts or supporting the band. I did much better on my school projects this time around and even read some of the designated books while he settled for the cliff notes. I began to have more questions about life than answers and I worried over just about anything while caffeine became my friend and energy resource. Too many times to count I suspiciously inspected food and household product labels for questionable inert ingredients. I still wore a size five but a size seven-eight felt so comfortable that I usually bought a nine-ten.

While I slept one night the seasons of my life changed again. I woke up and found myself looking up into the eyes of my teenager as we matched wits for control. Keeping him out of a horizontal position and in a vertical productive position was a daily battle. It seemed reasonable to nail his windows closed so that he and I could both get more sleep...so I did that. My hormones began a bizarre fluctuation that left me sweating and irritable. The loss of an earring was enough to move me to tears and I regularly consulted the woman in the mirror about how long it was appropriate to camouflage gray with ash-blonde. I began to rebel against providing cooking, cleaning and laundry services to people who were just as capable as me and I revised the dynamics of our family unit. Somehow, we all made it through this season. My son finished college, my husband learned to load a dishwasher and I accepted that gray is not too far from ash-blonde, really. I will be fifty years old in the next few months and my son has moved away to begin his own career and family just as I started my own many years ago with him. I like my hair natural now exactly the way it is because it’s just less trouble. I wear a size twelve and I don’t care who knows it. I have realized that at twenty I really knew less that I thought I knew, but that the reward for perseverance and not giving up along the way is wisdom; something that I surely could have used at twenty. I enjoy sleeping in and opening the windows to let the fresh breeze drift through my home with inspiration. Often the soft mellow sounds of relaxation music mingle with the breeze and together they whisper together in a gentle harmony as they float through the rooms of my home like quiet special secrets.

I love to drift off to sleep with the looping audio sounds of gentle rain and thunder that last all night relaxing me and my cats. Music and rain are some of my favorite things. The Planet Earth series vibrantly fills the wide-screen in my living-room with amazing colors and stories. The painting supplies that I bought but never found time to use I am learning to use now when I am not sketching, writing, walking in the garden or reading the extensive collection of books that I amassed yet never found time to read. Sometimes, I even find myself seriously thinking of writing my own book. Looking backwards now, if I could give myself any useful gift to help that twenty year old woman that I once was negotiate the hurdles ahead, it would no doubt be the gift of acceptance. With that gift I would have been able to enjoy more of each season of my life that I was presently in and not waste precious time by questioning every decision that I had made in the season before or stressing about the ones ahead. In the end I ended up right where I was supposed to be anyway and I have finally learned to love and embrace each season of my life especially the one that I am in right now.