A Mommy Blog About Raising Men, Not Boys.

Sunday, November 15, 2015

My Tag Along

My mom always said that from the time I was able to pull myself up, I was attached to her right leg. I would stand with her while she did the dishes, or toddle along holding her apron (back when she still wore them) or her pants, making sure I was never out of reach of her. She told me that quit wearing shoes in the house after stepping on my tiny toes one too many times.

I've realized after two months of her being gone that I never stopped doing that. It became mental, my attachment, but I think somehow I always resented when they cut the cord. I had to be attached to her. I had to tell her every random thing. I needed her to be there at any moment when I reached out, to keep me from falling, to help me stand, to just be there, the giant solid presence before me.

That was still true when suddenly I was bigger than she. When disease shriveled and shrank her she still loomed huge before me, my touchstone, my longest relationship, the one formed when cells began to split becoming me along the way.

Death cut the cord finally and I think it's part of why I struggle.

Suddenly this morning, as I've considered this fact I am realizing I have a tiny human who is exactly the same. When I am home she has to be where I am. Today I asked her to go play and give me some space and she replied "How am I supposed to play without you?"

Oh god.

There I am. There I am in a tiny form. She follows me everywhere, into the bathroom still, into my bed, into the shower. She has to be with me. "I have to be with you," she says.

The truth is, I have to be with her. As much as I love the boys, there is something to this bond, something I didn't expect and wouldn't have believed. It's true. It's not that the love is different but the understanding is. The depth of the understanding, the sameness.

I'm going to leave her some day, and crush her world.

That's hard to swallow.

I guess it's just a measure of love.