Mother Mary

Growing up in a part of the country that was overwhelmingly Roman Catholic, every home had a statue of the Virgin Mary. In my little town, most of the time it was in the back yard. Dressed in blue, Mother Mary always had that same rueful expression on her face. Maybe it's a Susan thing, but she always looked pained to me. Later when I saw Russian icons and other classic works of art depicting the Madonna and Child, she still had that same, sad face. Pained serenity. Sad resignation. I don't know. Not a happy expression, to be sure.

You've probably heard the classic Christmas story from the second chapter of the Book of Luke, where the angels appeared to the shepherds, who went to see the Christ child in the manger. They spread the word that the long-awaited Messiah had arrived. Luke tells us that as they did that, Mary pondered these things in her heart.

Mary had a lot to ruminate about. Before she even knew she was pregnant, she was told by an angel she would bear the Messiah. So she knew from the very beginning that he would suffer and die a horrible death. Yes. I know it was for a purpose, but can I just tell you that we parents hate it when our kids hurt?

The Protestants tend to shy away from Mary a bit. Some of them think that the veneration of her borders on worship, and most of them will tell you she wasn't always a virgin. I have never really identified with her at all, but lately as I have joined this big club of mothers with kids who are adults, I see the archetype as not just Christ's mother, but as someone entirely different.

Like any mother worth her salt, Mary was with her son up to the bitter end, keeping vigil at the crucifixion. She could console herself, I suppose, with the knowledge that her son's death was for a higher good. But to see him hurt must have hurt her so terribly.

Watching a child suffer is a horrible thing for a parent. We think, "Let it be me!" even if we don't actually say the words aloud. Our kids who are grown think for themselves, form their own opinions, and make their own choices. That's as it should be. But when they make decisions that lead to abuse, addiction, dysfunction, crime, illness, possibly death, that's very hard to watch. It seems so unnecessary, such a waste, all that self-destruction.

It is counterintuitive for those of us who stood by the bed making sure the infant was still breathing, sat by the high chair making sure he didn't choke, who made a life around loving and protecting, to watch helplessly as our children choose paths that will only make them hurt.

It is odd to see the person who was once the little prince or princess in our lives sit atop (as Trent Reznor so eloquently calls it) an empire of dirt. This is so not what we signed up for. This was not supposed to happen.

Any problem, of course, with one family member involves the entire family. And any responsible parent will be willing to do whatever would be helpful, which might include taking full responsibility for mistakes made along the way. Apologies and amends might be in order, but the martyr taking the blame for someone else's bad choices has no place in this picture.

As young mothers, we know that we are to teach our children. But what we really don't understand until they are much older, is that they teach us, too. If we let them. These are hard lessons to learn; those of letting go, of good boundaries, of not enabling behavior.

And while we hope that our children will be safe and healthy and happy, the ultimate lesson is we can't do that for them. But we can do it for ourselves.

Susan

"Hurt" written by Trent Reznor