The gift
Last night I dreamed about someone who I rarely think of by choice. We were fighting, as was our habit of old. The children were crying. I was weeping, collapsed on the steps, my head on my arms, exhausted.
This morning, as I made it about halfway through that first cup of coffee, having finished hand-making a birthday card for my beloved Sean, I realized why I had that dream.
In some ways, it feels like I am fighting with that person, ongoing. I would like to put the past in the past, and I do try. Not angrily, just…in a practical fashion. He was in my driveway yesterday, though, delivering gifts to two of the boys. We didn’t talk. I wasn’t even mad. I consciously moved on, but my subconscious was telling me, “I remember.” Spirit just does what spirit wants, I suppose. Last night it wanted to cry.
As I made the aforementioned birthday card, I knew the birthday boy likely wouldn’t love it. It includes references to his favorite anime shows. It is made with love. It is made just for him. In other words, it reeks of MOM.
He won’t like it because he doesn’t like me. He doesn’t like me because I am always here for him. He doesn’t like me because he has the freedom to push me away as hard as he can (teenagers do that), and he knows I’ll still be here. Not just because of the pandemic, but because I love him and he knows I love him. I so deeply love him, he has the luxury of loathing me, even though he loves me.
The man in the driveway last night didn’t have any bad intentions whatsoever, I am sure. He showed up, gave the two birthday boys (one belated, due to an abundance of Covid-19 caution) sacks full of gifts. They were not expensive gifts. Were they thoughtful? Sort of…ish. Not a single one of them was new, but the details didn’t matter to the boys. They were overjoyed to see the man. They were overjoyed to be thought of, to be special boys. They were overjoyed to explore those bags of gifts. They even cleaned them properly (where applicable) due to their second-hand nature and carted them off after the obligatory DISPLAYING OF THE TREASURES. Wow, were they psyched. Very happy guys. It was a fun show and tell, especially the bag of 80s cassette tapes!
Contrast this scene to the month surrounding their birthdays, here at home. Literally, anything I give them for their birthdays has to be approved by them, or it is going to be a waste of my money. My tangible birthday gifts tend to get pricier, harder to come by, and less appreciated. This is not why my subconscious was crying a la dream. (That was just a leftover, a reminder.) I get it. I’m a middle-aged lady, everything isn’t about me, and I’m happy about that. I’m just thinking about it, because…dream tears. Leftovers.
The teenagers take me for granted and kids really OUGHT to have a parent they can take for granted. That is the REAL gift. They don’t understand it yet, but someday they will.
It’s not a competition with the man. I wish him well. I wish the kids well. I bless the gift giving and receiving. It’s all good. (Prince and Meatloaf and Sting and Mötley Crüe, forever!)
My gift to them will never be wrapped. I will buy things today online, at the behest of the birthday boy, and I will enjoy spoiling him, as I always do…but he will not unwrap the real gift for many years to come. Someday he will, I know. I know he will.
I hope, hope, hope someday he hand makes a card for a child of his own. I love him so much. I want that for him–a family of his own, in a peaceful home, where one rarely ever weeps, even in his dreams.
