Trending
When God decided to make me a mother, I instantly got that instinctive nature and began to protect him.
Even before he was born. Even before that first glance at his precious face.
I was overcome in that moment when he reached out his tiny, fragile hand and somehow it fit perfectly around my finger.
As if it was meant to be.
As a mom, I simply knew what to do when he fell down as he began taking his first steps.
Being his mom, I knew what to do to protect him from an accident occurring.
Cutting his food into small portions so he didn't choke.
Putting up gates so he wouldn't fall down the staircase.
Never leaving him unattended.
As his mother, I knew how to help my child excel in school (if he chose to.)
As his mom, I showed him how to become independent by watching me work several jobs, go to college, keep a clean house and pay the bills.
And for the most part, each learned by my example.
Because we are certainly not given an instruction book or manual upon their birth.
We are not taught how to care for a baby or how to raise a child on our own in school.
It is something God instilled in us the second they take form. To protect. To teach. To love unconditionally.
No, raising three boys wasn't always easy.
It still isn't -- even though they are in their 20s and 30s.
However, we are given that ability.
But it occurred to me the other day there is one instance in which a mom just can't help her child.
One problem we can't solve with a kiss, an I'm sorry or an I love you.
What do I do when that once-tiny hand that clung to my finger and just wouldn't let go, let's go?
He lets go to try to create a life with someone he has genuinely come to love.
And what do I do when he comes to me with a broken heart and is completely devastated from losing that someone?
What do I say?
What do I do?
How can I help him?
If only there was a book.
If only there was an instruction guide to teach me a way to keep him from crying.
Yes, I still have a broken arm.
And my back, which I broke three or four years ago, has never healed completely.
There is little B12 in my body so I'm required to take injections to help ease the numbness in my always-freezing fingers.
And yet, there is no greater pain that I have ever felt than when one of my adult children comes to me defeated and heartbroken.
How am I supposed to make this one better?
How do I give him some kind hope to hold on to?
My trying to comfort him by sharing some of my own experiences isn't any help. It never helps.
One has to endure the experience for themselves in order to fully understand.
Someone else's story will not matter because that is their life and their problems.
And he needs a solution to his own difficulties.
I remember ever-so clearly when my son came to me absolutely destroyed because the only girl he ever loved had left him.
His depression was and still remains very real.
If only I could help.
Every minute of every day how I wish I could help.
But what probably broke me more was when he asked, "When does it get better?"
"When does it stop hurting?"
As his mom, as his protector in life, I should have lied.
I should have told him what he wanted to hear and not what he needed to hear.
I now had the daunting task of telling him that it doesn't go away.
The pain that we feel of having lost the first person who truly held our heart in their hands ... that never goes away.
Not entirely.
It may get easier given enough time.
We may not cry every day or every other day. But genuine love always remains somewhere inside of us.
Forever.
And I pray I didn't break his heart even more with my honesty.
Being a mom is the most beautiful miracle we can be given.
And it isn't a job, as some people claim.
It's a privilege.
From the moment I became a mom, their needs became my needs. Their wants, mine.
When they hurt, I hurt more.
When they cried, I cried harder.
But it has been a wonderful journey that I wouldn't change for anything.
I only wish I could protect them from everything.
Especially from a broken heart.
(Stenger is the community editor for the Herald-Star and the Weirton Daily Times.)