Before My Son Was Born

It’s not a perfect love, but there is no such animal. Instead, there are human beings who try and try and try. When my son was born, I knew that the world was good, that there was a certain kind of perfection that couldn’t be bought or manufactured, or even imagined. I know that, on the day of my birth, my mother must have had the same thoughts. I know that she expected wonderful things for her children. And, even if she was unable to give me all I thought I needed, she gave me all she had to give. As I did with my son. 

And that is all we can expect from ourselves and from our mothers. We try to imagine the life we’ve had in ways that might have made it better and more satisfying. But for me that won’t do any longer.

I have had to remain in my own life with the double role I now play. I’m not happy about it, but I am gradually coming to accept that there is no perfection—there is only what is. And that is what I have to deal with, what is. And my mother, who nurtured me and nursed me and helped me grow in more ways than I care to admit, is the baby now. The cycle starts all over again. My son says I am a good mother. We’ll see about that.