Dear Mom e-Letter

Dear Mom E-Letter
Climbing High
Volume 2 Issue 11

Dear Reader:

I was waiting to board a plane to California in September when I called my daughter to say I’d be in Cheyenne for her birthday October 1.  I was shocked to hear she was on her way to the doctor with my 18-month old granddaughter.  Faith had climbed onto the top of her stroller, fell face first onto cement and was badly bruised.  My daughter stood next to her when it happened, unable to respond in time to stop her.

Have you been there?  Have you been a mother when someone you gave birth to got hurt, when you were right there?  Have you been a grandmother getting the news via telephone, wishing you were there?

Life is precious, and yet it’s filled with hard falls, the likely result of climbing so high when you’re so little, even when your Mom stands next to you. 

Moms stand beside us as we climb all of our lives—onto chairs and tables, then up the tree, into kindergarten, through high school and beyond.  Then our Moms watch us climb and stretch into relationships, careers, and then, the ultimate climb—becoming a mom ourselves.

Now we’re the mom and the grandmother, watching, knowing that climbing is natural, yet scared to death of breaks, bruises and concussions. We know our kids will climb and must.  We know that little minds and bodies mature by tackling the challenges life poses—both mental and physical—by climbing.   After all, we gave birth to those limbs that need to see how high they can go.  So we watch, nervously.

What did your mom do when you climbed?  Did she panic, warn, advise, beg, demand, predict loss of life and limb?  Did she cave in, let you do what your head-strong character told her you were going to do anyway?

Did your mom try to prepare a safety net below you—pillows and blankets when you were small, practical advice when you were older? Was she always there to pick up the pieces and bandage the bruises?

In tradition inspired by Germans and Norwegians of the South Dakota prairie, I raised two strong-willed daughters.  I’ve seen them fall, and know my job is to pick up the pieces.  That has meant airplane trips, head massages and countless hours of listening to what happened when they climbed and fell. 

This is an honor God bestows upon moms whose kids climb.  We will do our part.  We will encourage our kids to climb and stretch, just as our mothers did for us.  And when they fall, we will be there.   However, as I held Faith, whose bruises and concussion had healed, and whose brother is beginning to play hockey, I offer this practical advice, learned from my own mother.  Encourage your kids to not tell you everything they’re about to do.  I can handle life better that way, can’t you?

Please feel free to forward this e-mail to another mom who has watched her kids fall.  And thanks for sharing the journey called Dear Mom!

Dee Dee