Every Single Thing and Star in the Sky

I grew up in your typical middle class family, in your typical cute suburban neighborhood. My mother worked part-time while raising my brother and I, and eventually returned to full-time work at an accounting firm when we were both in school. My father worked at the Atlas, and once it closed, went from factory job to factory job. My brother and I never went without. We played sports, we had the latest toys and shoes, clothing and so forth. We had a golden retriever; the poster-pet of your average run-of-the-mill family. As far as I'm concerned, I had a charmed childhood and look back on it fondly.

When I was in my late teen years, my parents got divorced. It wasn't sudden or unexpected. In fact, it was so eerily inevitable that my brother and I often urged my mom to "just do it already". In our eyes, it would spare us all a lot of arguing and resentment. My father, an incredibly stubborn individual, capable of spewing out many awful things with every intention of hitting you where it would hurt the most, was the cause of my family "breaking". However, I don't think I ever bothered playing the "pity me" card, because in my eyes, my mother had always been my world and as far as I was concerned, that wouldn't change.

Sure, I had my share of frustrations and bitterness during the transition, and I fought with both my mom and dad because I was still a teenager after-all. I disliked both of them at times, I used the disgusting "hate" word when I shouldn't have, and I would distance myself even though it always pained me to pretend that I didn't need my mom, when in reality, she was what and who I always needed. I wasted a lot of my time treating her like she left me when my parents divorced. She left the house because she had to. My father was too high on himself to do the right thing and leave the house we had grown up in to his children and their mother. Instead, he basically called it his, and because I wasn't about to have everything in my life change, I chose to stay there where all my stuff was.

I had spent years waking up to the sound of my mother's hairdryer, as she got ready for work in the morning, and suddenly there was just silence. Eventually, my brother went to live with my mom, and it was just me, my golden retriever, and the man who I would slowly but surely come to give up on entirely.

There are very few examples in my life where I am able to look back upon and see my father as a man who I thought the world of. What comes to mind is building snow forts on our front lawn (we always had the best ones). We would stay up super late, and he would fill our recycling bin with snow, and we would make this gigantic snow fortress, igloo style. He'd spray it with the hose in the middle of winter so that it would freeze, and he even let my brother and I spray-paint the snow the one year so that it had our names on it. I think of him taking me to pick up concert tickets in St. Catharine's when I started attended local shows. I think of him coaching me in soccer as a kid. I think of him, and then I don't. For many reasons. It's not like I walk around burdened or carrying around this weight of resentment. I have had much time to make peace with the fact that I no longer have a relationship with my father. You eventually learn who's looking out for you and who isn't. You know when there is no longer a point to something. You know when someone has no interest in getting to know the person you are.

I quite easily could have turned into someone over the years who did walk around angry or blaming every poor choice or action on the fact that I didn't have my father there for me. However, that could not be further from the case. I look at myself as a strong and proud individual. Though introverted and overly-emotional at times, I regard life with more appreciation than I can express. When I look back on my past: the childhood years, the teenage years, the early twenties when my life was the most difficult it ever has been, a common thread of light, and the reason I was able to become who I am today, is my mother. She's also the reason why I strive to be such a great mother myself. I am able to so clearly see what a mother's love is capable of. Even through those times when I didn't like her much, or told her that I "hated" her, she reminded me that she loved me and always would.

I will never forget when I moved in with my best friend during my last year of university. We had this little basement apartment that we were so excited to find. I couldn't wait to move to a whole different city and be independent. During this time, I wasn't speaking much to my mom (for reasons I can't even make sense of here and now). Come moving day, we had a bunch of people there helping us, and though I told her that I didn't need her help, my mom came anyways. She stayed all day, and I remember her putting together my bed for me. I probably didn't even thank her because I was too busy being obnoxious. I will never ever forget this feeling I had that evening when she left. I had all of my things there, I was now officially in my own apartment doing exactly what I wanted to be doing, and I have never felt so empty in my entire life because I didn't have my mom there with me. I spent the whole night bawling on my best friend's lap. Pretending I didn't need my mother was the most foolish thing I have ever done, because let me tell you; she is my world, man. Every single thing and star in the sky.

I swore to myself back then that I would never push her away again. Flash forward a couple years and this same woman dragged me up from the ashes when I was at my absolute worst, completely defeated by an accident I was involved in. I wasn't able to see the future I had always dreamt of anymore. I spent nearly two years of my life afraid that my life was over. All the while, my mother was this persistent voice in the back of my head telling me that what mattered most was how well I walked through the fire.

She never gave up on me, so I couldn't give up on myself. My mother instilled within me a strength that I didn't even know I had. She fought with me, she fought for me, and watching her be this astonishing protector made me realize, "Jesus Christ, this is what being a mother is".

Flash forward some more and I am trying on my wedding dress. Part of me didn't think I would ever get to do that, so this meant a lot. Insert my overwhelming gratitude here! My mom is bawling her eyes out because that's just what she does. I've recently learned that I inherited this gene because I cry over basically anything. If not for the fact that I have an incredible brother who is the only other person in this universe who can tell the story of our lives growing up, I would have had my mother walk me down the aisle on the day I married the sweetest guy ever. My mom never let me forget what I was deserving of. Though her marriage didn't work out, she never once led me to believe that love wasn't real, or that relationships were destined to fall apart. She wanted happiness for me. She wanted me to have an everlasting love, and a family of my own. I was fortunate enough find a gem of a man, and together we have built a life together that I love.

It makes me laugh now thinking of times in my life where I was mortified to get too personal with my mother. Getting my period? Oh god. Far too much information to share with her, let alone having to ask her for her help. I juxtapose that example with me being 41 weeks pregnant, sitting in my bathtub, completely naked, having contractions rip through my body, throwing all shame or notions of "personal space" out the freaking window, as my mom rubbed my back and coached me through the pain. The older you get, I think you see yourself less as your mother's baby, and more as your mother. My pregnancy and now having a daughter of my own, has made me relate to my mother as a woman. I insisted she be there in the room when I gave birth. She stood in the corner, again bawling her eyes out, when my little Rowan was pulled out into the world (she was more than content in Hotel Uterus). In that moment, I had the two most important women in my life together in one room, in one remarkable moment. My own mother, my past, the woman who brought me into this world, and my own daughter, my future, the baby I had just brought into the world. It will forever be one of the most beautiful scenes from my life.

These days, I spend my time watching my beautiful daughter grow and bloom into a soul who already has more life to her than anyone else I know. Having the privilege of watching my mother take on this new role as a grandmother makes my heart happy. It sounds so elementary, but there simply isn't any other way to describe it. I know her as my mother and I love her as such, but it's felt like meeting this entirely new person who loves my baby SO much, so effortlessly. I always think about how lucky Rowan is to have her as a grandmother, and how the two of them will be inseparable. I can't think of a better way to thank my mother for raising me so well, than to raise a great woman myself. It's like showing your parent(s), "look what you have enabled me to do. Look what I have learned from you along the way." What better gift than the gift of knowing how to love? Thanks to my mother, I have so much love to give to my own daughter. Thanks to my mother, the bar is set so high, but I am up for the challenge. Thanks to my mother, I have confidence in my own abilities. Thanks to my mother, I never go without answers (seriously, she's like my walking, talking, Pinterest and book of knowledge).

Most importantly, thanks to her, I know that with being a mother comes a great responsibility and influence. Once I found out that I was having a daughter, everything seemed to come full circle. I have a super strong relationship with my mom, and her and I share everything. It only seemed to make sense that I would now have the opportunity to take what she had taught me and create this same mother / daughter dynamic with my own little girl. You see, I never grew up focusing on my life without my father present; I grew up focused on my life with a mother who could do it all. I think I speak for both my brother and I when I say that we never felt like we were lacking love. My mother always made sure to that love was never in short-supply. That woman provided, supported, encouraged, healed, sympathized, and loved more than a dozen parents could have. We were lucky. We are still lucky. And if my daughter grows up looking at me with HALF the admiration that I look at my mother with, then I will be lucky in that sense too.

I'm sorry, Ma . There simply wasn't a card at the store that perfectly said all of that. Thank you for being my role model and the single greatest influence I will ever know. I love you endlessly.

"You aren't in my way, you are my way".