Holding on by a Thread
It was a Friday. I dropped my daughter off at school and was driving to work. On the drive, my mind was lost in thought. So much so that by the time I arrived at my office, I couldn’t even remember how I got there. The week was hard. My business is struggling. I didn’t know what to do. I hurt inside. I felt like I was failing. Like I was letting everyone down. My wife. My kids. My employees. All the pain, uncertainty, and fear led me to write this.
Holding on by a thread. Every little thing hurts. Lost in a sea of failure. Prone to a life of nullity.
I posted it on Facebook, not thinking much of it. Within minutes I started receiving texts and phone calls that would last throughout the day. People who were concerned and wanted to help. One of the first calls I got was from my mom. She asked me if I was ok. I said, no, but I will be ok. Not sure why I felt the need to wall off my pain. She asked me questions, trying to get me to talk, but I wouldn’t engage. I told her I was struggling, but I would figure it out. I don’t have many choices. It’s just something I have to deal with. The last thing I said was, “I have to admit I failed and need to move on.” The last thing she said was, “I love you.”
Throughout the rest of the day, I continued to receive calls and texts of concern and encouragement. In between, I was trying to find a way through my mess. My stomach was in knots, and it felt like I had a weight on my chest heavier than normal. At the end of the day, I went home, went to my bedroom, and wept. I was thinking of all the mistakes I made. All the things I planned to do but ran out of time. How I was always behind schedule and how I was constantly feeling like a failure.
It was two days before Mother’s Day. I had been putting off getting my wife a Mother’s Day present because I couldn’t afford it. It was Friday. It was payday, but I didn’t pay myself. Laying in my bed, realizing I wouldn’t be able to provide for my wife or kids on this Day, my phone rang. It was my mom again.
When I picked up, she said, “I transferred you some money. I figured since things were tough that you probably didn’t pay yourself. I know it doesn’t solve your problem, but I thought it would help.” All day I had been throwing myself a pity party. Complaining about everything that was out of my control and pretending that I could have found a way to control it if I had just worked harder. I had isolated myself in my room and was content just to be sad. Her call pulled me out. The weight on my chest got a little lighter. I realized now that I could go through with the plan my kids and I devised for Mother’s Day. I wiped up my tears. I told my Mom thank you, and I loved her. Left my isolation and packed the kids in the car.
A few months ago, when I asked my twins what they wanted to get Mama for Mother’s Day, they said they wanted to paint her a picture. Painting is something that I’ve wanted to try myself, so I told them that was a good idea. One of my focuses as a father is to teach my kids to create and express themselves. This was a great opportunity to learn both at the same time. We headed up to Michaels to buy the supplies needed.
When we arrived, the girls were just over the moon looking at all the craft merchandise. I felt a like I was in over my head because I had no idea what to do. It must have been written on my face because after being in the store for only a minute, an employee asked if I needed help. I said yes. I explained what my plan was. I told her that I was an artist so that I would figure it out, but I needed her to show me the tools to create. She walked me aisle by aisle, showing me what I would need. I asked questions, and she gave me thoughtful answers. Her guidance and service were exceptional. So much so that when I got back in the car, I started to cry again. It felt good to have a stranger treat me respectfully and help me in such a way. I was having a terrible day, and I needed the help. I could have easily walked in and gotten help from a person who was short and aloof instead of someone who cared. It was another bright spot on an otherwise stormy day.
My parents were out of town. They live down the street from me, so I took all the supplies to their house and set them up in the garage. I pulled out the supplies and started to experiment. The kids wanted to go first, but I told them I couldn’t help teach them until I learned, so I needed to go first. I played around for a while until I got the hang of it. Then I created a plan and started to paint and help the kids paint.
My idea was to express the love my wife and I share. I planned to create a colorful heart floating in the sea. My tools were acrylic paint, varying sponges, and a heart shape I traced on cardstock. It took me a couple of days, but when I was finished, I had this.
We did something similar for the girls, but I let them be creative. This is what they came up with.
Friday and Saturday were difficult for my wife and I. No matter how strong the relationship is and how much effort is put into communication, communication tends to fail when things go wrong, and emotions rise. We are no exception. During this difficult time, we struggled to communicate our concerns, feelings, and thoughts. This led us into a fight that lasted until Saturday night. On Mother’s Day, the twins and Oliver were very excited to show Mama the paintings they had made for her. During the day, we relaxed outside as a family. Things were better but still awkward. It was refreshing to put the problem to the side for a moment and spend time watching the twins swing and do gymnastics, throw the ball with Oliver, and just enjoy the warmth of the sun.
While sitting on the patio, I began reflecting on the past few days. I thought about how lucky I was to have a wife who forgives and perseveres with me and a mother who encourages and supports me. The kids' smiles while painting was priceless, but they don’t happen without my mom’s help. I was able to celebrate my wife for the great mother she is, and that’s because my mom gave me the opportunity. I reflected on how I never really celebrated my mom as she deserved. Not as an adult at least. I tend to focus on my wife and kids. Life is busy, and my bandwidth is overflowing. I started thinking about all my mom did for me as a child. Spending her time at baseball games and wrestling matches. Driving me and my friends to school so we didn’t have to get up early and catch the bus. I also thought about how I treated her. It’s not that I was a bad kid. It’s just that I was a kid. I never gave her the respect she deserved. Then I started thinking about how my teenagers treated my wife. They don’t give her the respect she deserves. I try explaining to them, but they are kids and don’t get it yet. So sitting there, I wrote this.
Mama/Mother
I love you mama.
I hate you mother.
Thank you mama.
(Eye roll) ugh, Mother.
What do I do, mama?
I can do that, mother.
Can I have a hug, mama?
Get away mother.
I don’t know mama.
I know mother.
I love you mama.
I love you mother.
I’m Sorry Mother.
The mama lines are words spoken by my kids to their mother before they became teenagers. The mother lines are words spoken by me when I was a teenager and by my teenage kids over the years. The last three lines are me speaking to my wife and mother now. There are a lot of reasons a boy pulls away from his mom. Changes his tone. Pushes away hugs. And rolls his eyes. Sometimes it’s natural. Like when he finds a girl he likes and just forgets about everything else in the world. Sometimes it’s social; being called a “mama’s boy” is not normally a term of endearment for a teenage boy.
Whatever the reasons, it happens. I think we all do it in some shape or form. I’ve sometimes defended my son’s search for independence with my wife. I think there is a balance though. And over the years, I have struggled to maintain mine. As a kid, I felt like I could tell my mom anything. By the time I was a teenager, I felt the same but, for some reason, didn’t want to as much anymore. I think it was a combination of things: girls and my perspective of manhood shaped by pop culture. I kinda did what I thought I was supposed to. But not talking to my mom was not supposed it. In fact, had I talked with my mom more, the girls thing probably would have gone better.
Even though my mom and I didn’t talk as much as we did when I was a kid, as a teenager, I could still go to her with all my problems. The fun stuff I talked with my friends about, but when life was tough, I knew I could go to my mom. After moving out though, I kinda stopped. That’s when life began getting really hard. I think we sometimes take for granted having someone to share our most troublesome times with. Maybe it’s because we don’t realize its importance. Or maybe it’s because we think it will be easy to develop that level of communication with someone else.
Few people understand us as well as the people who taught us to speak. But sometimes, during our teenage years and into young adulthood, we walk away from this sounding board, confidant, translator, and friend. I did, and I wish I hadn't.
Growing up, my mom was my biggest cheerleader. She was the team mom on my tee-ball team. She took me to stinky wrestling meets. And she would brag about me to anyone who would listen. As I got older, I started to want my friends to take me places, and I was embarrassed by her bragging about me or cheering for me. Looking back now, I can see how silly that was.
While making my wife's painting, I also decided to make one for my mom. I would use the same design concept but change the color palate and background.
Step one: I mixed the colors for the background. I made a sky blue and a pale yellow.
Step two: I built the background layer. I used a round sponge and applied the paint in a quick circular motion. I used pale yellow in the center because I wanted the heart to look like it had the sun behind it. This symbolizes how she finds ways to brighten my day. I used a pale yellow instead of a golden yellow because I wanted the blue to show through so it appears more as a glow.
Step three: I selected the color palate for the heart. Instead of mixing colors, I selected premixed colors to save time and paint.
Step four: I used what I call a cheese sponge and began lightly dapping the canvas. I rotated back and forth between the colors until it was well-layered and covered most of the yellow.
Step five: I placed my heart shape on the painting with tape. Then applied the second layer to my background.
Step six: After it dried, I used metallic white ink and pale yellow to layer the sun and clouds around the heart. I blotted the sponge and then swiped the blot to make some of the clouds. For others, I swirled and dapped. For the sun, I blotted around the shape until I had the color I was looking for. Then I layered more clouds. Using different application processes helps add depth. Once it dried, I took off the heart shape, and it was done.
I have written a lot about my dad over the past few years but very little about my mom. I think it’s because my dad taught me how to be a man. How to take care of myself and others. He taught me how to plan, organize, and create. I connect with my dad because I am him. My mom may not have taught me those things, but that was never her responsibility. She loved me. She supported me. She encouraged me. My dad taught me I could do anything I set my mind to. My mom made me believe it.