The Writing Mamas Daily Blog
Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.
And for that, you are a goddess.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Essential Luxuries
I first heard the story of my father’s birth when I was pregnant with my own son, sixty-five years later.
My grandmother labored alone, without support from my grandfather, an alcoholic. After she was discharged from the hospital, she waited outside with a nurse for my grandfather to pick her up. How desperate she must have felt, standing there holding her newborn, realizing that his father had forgotten them and was probably off drunk somewhere.
Eventually, tired and embarrassed, she had to call a neighbor to come get her. She was so weak from childbirth that she almost fainted walking to the front door, but she was too ashamed to let the neighbor help her inside in case my grandfather was passed out on the floor.
This story made me weep for my grandmother and marvel at her strength. Although my grandfather died of cirrhosis of the liver before I was born, at ninety-five, my grandmother, strong as ever, is still living in the same house and she never remarried. I cannot imagine the difficulty of her life as a mother, raising three boys while married to an alcoholic and working as a maid. She certainly had none of the luxuries that I enjoy as a mother.
The biggest “luxury,” and the one I most frequently take for granted, is the unconditional support of a loving husband. My obstetrician was amazed that my husband attended every single prenatal appointment, rearranging his busy work schedule for a chance to hear our son’s heartbeat for just a few seconds. He would never have missed his birth. Now that our son is a toddler, he has become the father that other mothers talk about. I frequently hear wistful-toned comments about how attentive and involved he is with our son.
At those times, I cannot help but think again of my own father, and how my grandfather missed his high school graduation to go fishing. How painful it must have been for my grandmother to see the disappointment on her child’s face. I remember these stories, not with disdain for the grandfather I never knew, but with true gratitude for my own son’s wonderful father, a luxury essential to my happiness as a mother.
By Rebecca Jackson
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My grandmother labored alone, without support from my grandfather, an alcoholic. After she was discharged from the hospital, she waited outside with a nurse for my grandfather to pick her up. How desperate she must have felt, standing there holding her newborn, realizing that his father had forgotten them and was probably off drunk somewhere.
Eventually, tired and embarrassed, she had to call a neighbor to come get her. She was so weak from childbirth that she almost fainted walking to the front door, but she was too ashamed to let the neighbor help her inside in case my grandfather was passed out on the floor.
This story made me weep for my grandmother and marvel at her strength. Although my grandfather died of cirrhosis of the liver before I was born, at ninety-five, my grandmother, strong as ever, is still living in the same house and she never remarried. I cannot imagine the difficulty of her life as a mother, raising three boys while married to an alcoholic and working as a maid. She certainly had none of the luxuries that I enjoy as a mother.
The biggest “luxury,” and the one I most frequently take for granted, is the unconditional support of a loving husband. My obstetrician was amazed that my husband attended every single prenatal appointment, rearranging his busy work schedule for a chance to hear our son’s heartbeat for just a few seconds. He would never have missed his birth. Now that our son is a toddler, he has become the father that other mothers talk about. I frequently hear wistful-toned comments about how attentive and involved he is with our son.
At those times, I cannot help but think again of my own father, and how my grandfather missed his high school graduation to go fishing. How painful it must have been for my grandmother to see the disappointment on her child’s face. I remember these stories, not with disdain for the grandfather I never knew, but with true gratitude for my own son’s wonderful father, a luxury essential to my happiness as a mother.
By Rebecca Jackson
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