"A parent's love is whole no matter how many times divided." ~Robert Brault

As I sit here today watching my students take their final exam, I am simultaneously pondering my own so-called expertise as a parent. Is it the fact that I just read a student’s note that would make George Carlin blush? Is it the fact that, although my failure rate has dropped significantly from the beginning of the semester, I still have students who are failing? Or is it the fact that I have five children of my own whose intellectual growth, I feel, is my responsibility?

I fear all of the above.

Realistically speaking, all of those issues factor into my fears of parenting. I wonder now what sort of sentiments my children are writing in the classroom while they think their teacher isn’t looking. Do their teachers post all of their scores on that awesome website that the majority of schools have developed that allows me to grade-stalk them throughout the semester, or am I still in the dark about something with which they still may be struggling? Is my past guilt for having one child who struggled academically and, therefore, made bad choices in regards to many aspects of her life going to have an impact on me as a parent to the two newest additions in my maternal realm?

I fear all of the above.

My internal parent fear factor has taken a substantial leap since Kevin and the babies became my own. I suppose subconsciously, as a mother, I’ve always had the ability to accept my flaws. After all, we do not have the option of choosing our mothers; biologically speaking anyway.  So for my eldest daughters, I only had to prove to myself that I was satisfactory at raising offspring.  That is one of the joys of single parenting. However, with Kevin’s babies (our babies), I now fear inadequacy.  I am no longer the only judge of maternal character.

I do not fear an inability to love the babies; in fact, I love them equally to the three beautiful daughters who came from my womb. I do not fear an inability to connect with the babies; in fact, the first time I saw them, their blonde hair and fair skin reminded me a lot of myself before adulthood turned me into a brunette. I do not fear an inability to think about them when they are not with us; in fact, the silence that follows their absence is often more than I can bear. What is it that I fear, then?

I suppose I fear everything a normal parent fears. I fear society’s influence on them on a grand scale, and my inability to protect them at all times. I fear the day the babies get upset with me for the first time and not being the mommy they want when something brings sadness to their lives.  I fear being the stereotypical step-parent. And, although I don’t see myself as such, I fear that one day, they will.

So now I ask myself, with all of these fears written on paper for the world to see, will I succeed as a parent? Unfortunately, that question cannot be answered right now; not by me, nor anyone else. Success can only be measured in the heart, and our hearts have the capability to judge certain actions our whole lives. What might seem like perfect parenting to a person as a child is subject to change into their adolescence and adult lives. Therefore, when my children are grown and their hearts are settled, and they have all become parents themselves, I will sit down with them, my love stronger than ever, and ask them if my fears were in vain. Knowing my children, I am almost positive they will say ‘no.’ Not because those fears have become reality, but because it was those fears that forced me to protect their hearts and minds, and because parenting is often mimicked, it is those fears that will force my children to protect the hearts and minds of my grandchildren.

This is the cycle of parenting; the cycle of life.  

Nothing In This World Worth Having Comes Easy

Kevin and I decided to get married. Well, we had actually decided that our first weekend together, but neither of told the other for fear that we might seem a bit too eager. He, being the true gentleman that he is, knelt before me and spoke poetic words as I sat on a bench in a flannel shirt and hat. In my life, I had never felt more beautiful. In my life, I have never felt more at peace.

Unfortunately, the visits are becoming more and more difficult since we have progressed in our relationship. Well, I should rephrase and say that the ends of the visits are becoming more and more difficult. Several times in the last few weeks I have had to remind myself that I cannot dwell on the fact that Kevin and I live hundreds of miles apart, and that that aspect of our lives is somewhat cruel. I have had to remind myself on Sundays, when Southwest is summoning me, that I am not some lovesick teenager; although I will admit, standing in the security line at the airport with roped walkways and overbearing TSA employees often reminds me of the barriers placed upon me as a teenager.

Kevin is amazing. He is addictive. He is like that first taste of flavored coffee after having only ever tasted your grandparents’ Nescafe on family vacations. How any human in this world could have ever overlooked his kind-spirited demeanor is beyond me.  Selfishly, I am glad some have. I am glad my heart’s vision wasn’t completely skewed the day Kevin and the babies entered my life.

Because everything is so right when we’re together, Kevin and I have developed this game. I have compared it to the intensity of Russian Roulette, in that, we come up with these perfect scenarios, and then, after we’ve created a much easier realm than the one that is our reality, we dredge up the reasons why those scenarios are irresponsible—those reasons hit us every time like a surprise bullet in the chamber of the gun called life. Yet, after every visit, we play the game again, perhaps trying to convince ourselves that a flawless relationship is simple and without suffering.

That is when God has to intervene and remind us that nothing in this world worth having comes easy. Some wealthy philanthropist once said that, and it’s been verbally plagiarized many times, but I’m pretty sure the Lord planted that quote in the heads of us all in order for its true meaning to sprout at just that perfect moment in our lives. For me, this is that time. However, being terribly cursed with analytical views of just about everything that grows in my head, I am having a hard time keeping that notion alive. I blame distance.

With that said, we are counting down the months, days, and hours until our family is all under one roof. Until then, I am sure we will shed many more tears and question the miles that separate us. We will torture ourselves and then accept reality all in the same sentence. We will pray for miracles from God and realize that we’ve already received the greatest one. We will live in each other’s hearts because unlike our temporary homes, those are permanent and constant. We will love each other unconditionally and be grateful for that opportunity.

Mockingbird Lane

Down   

         Mockingbird

                                Lane

Laughing with the breeze

Of yesterday’s memory;

Emptiness was still unknown.

Down   

          Mockingbird

                               Lane

Lillies dance in the field

Of today’s existence;

New emotions awaken in her soul.

Down

          Mockingbird

                               Lane

Languages spoken through the eyes

Of tomorrow’s lovers;

Lost in a labyrinth of words.

Down

          Mockingbird

                               Lane

Laying his hand on the heart

Of his eternal lover;

He vows to never again drive her

Down

          Mockingbird

                                Lane

  

  

Heaven on Earth

It has been several weeks since I first connected with Kevin and his children, and we have all fallen deeply in love with one another. Quickly, I realize. I will admit that I initially questioned the events at hand, but I realized that all of this is simply a gift from that Higher Power about Whom I previously spoke, questioned, and promised to never doubt again.

We are a weekend family for now, which is tough for everyone involved, but as Kevin says—and this will not be verbatim—it is much better to feel the pain of the separation than to not have something to be separated from.  I have never felt an affinity with another being since my grandparents left this earth many years ago. They were my life, and even after their deaths, I could often be found lying beside their headstone, sleeping, dreaming of days gone by. It is where I spent my college graduation day staking my tassel to the ground watching its red and black strands flap in the wind, and then later it is where I stood and cried as a new chapter opened in my life which would lead me away from them but allow me to help students less fortunate than myself.

I spoke to my grandparents after I reunited with Kevin, and I told them that it had finally happened. I had finally met that man who was like my brother, Jeromy, in so many ways: a wonderful father who makes promises he can keep. That is all I had ever expected from a man. That, and one who would honor my hopes and desires to make a small difference in the lives of those whose paths have been known to cause even the strongest of men to stumble. I walked that path, and therefore I feel it is my calling and the calling of my children to take the hand of those who are chosen to struggle and ultimately survive it. Kevin understands, and, most importantly, he accepts that aspect of my life—of our lives together.

I told my grandparents about his children. I told them about our children. I told them that our children are beautiful together, not just physically, but their hearts intertwine in a way that reminds me of the perfect line of poetry or a memory that many of us carry in our hearts to give us strength when days are long. Their laughter in the air and footsteps on the wooden floor are more musical than anything Vivaldi could have ever composed. Watching each of them sleep at night—all lying in the same bed—is powerful and miraculous, and a sight I will never erase from the depths of my mind.  For now, everything is very enchanting. Somehow, I have forgotten life as it was before the Kern family. Isaiah 65:17 tells us that our past troubles will be cleansed once we enter the gates of heaven. Perhaps I am already there…

Different Levels of Love

All of my life I have read a diverse selection of literature; both fiction and non-fiction. I have read stories about miraculous occurrences, both in the physical and spiritual realm. I have read of mortal love found through letters floating in bottles in the greatest depths of the ocean, and of love found post-mortem after deals have been made with angels wearing black cloaks. I have read it all while laughing in the face of those authors who perceive love—or rather whose characters perceive love—as an ideal that all humans must eventually come to terms with at some point in their lives. Unfortunately, for me, that sort of love was merely a plot scribbled on expensive paper and placed between leather bindings.

Now don’t get me wrong, love has certainly existed in my life. In fact, I love my children with all of my being. That love, of course, is not related to the aforementioned fictional accounts. It is a love that causes one to dominate in a completely different way than the male/female blinded version of love. Maternal love, though equally obsessive to marital love at times (or what I’ve read about it anyway), is one that forces a woman to get in touch with her mortality; it is one that constantly leaves a woman contemplating the “what-ifs” in life. It is a love that causes insomnia, not because of the lack of trust one experiences in the male/female version of love, but rather sleepless nights that begin at conception and don’t end until the day you are buried. It is a fearful yet satisfying love.

I have also felt a similar love with Mother Nature. Mother Nature, after all, has been the one constant in my life that has never taken anything away from me, but has faithfully been there to gift me with her beauty anytime I needed a reality check. During times of doubt that force me to have an internal pity party and question a higher power, Mother Nature has always been there to remind me that there is a God. And when I speak of God, I do not mean the entity that organized religion has misconstrued throughout the years. Not the hell-fire damnation egotistical divine force with whom we have a trusting relationship as children, but at the age of accountability we lose because, after all, we are only human. Instead, I speak of an ethereal beauty that only something as grandeur as God could be a part of.

It was Mother Nature who almost became the culprit to the near miss of my final chance at, what I thought, was simply fictional love. My brother and his family recently invited us to meet them at an amusement park, which was against everything I stood for, but something I knew we needed since we had not seen them in quite some time. Although I was willing to drive hundreds of miles to see my family, I was hoping to set up a tent when we arrived at our destination, not make reservations at a hotel. I was hoping to hike rocky trails with javelinas, not constructed walkways with misbehaved children. But alas, my youngest offspring, with whom I have hiked her entire life, convinced me that this new-age idea of fun would not skew her vision of tent-camping and rock-climbing. And so I packed our clothes and left the camping gear behind.

It is funny how life works sometimes. Over twelve years ago, the last time I saw my brother’s close friend, Kevin, he was married and I was a free-spirit who would have rather climbed Mt. Everest without a Sherpa or bottled oxygen than come close to being in a relationship (after having failed multiple times at it, of course). I always thought Kevin was cute, but way out of my league. He was well-dressed, while I was a walking fashion faux pas. He had attended college, and I was convinced that my obsession with literature was more than enough to help me survive in the world as I knew it. He had, and still has, a zest for life like no one I had ever met. I, on the other hand, was jaded and thought that happiness only appeared at the summit of a mountain.

Kevin happened to meet us at the amusement park on the trip that I would initially dread for over 400 miles. There’s not much I remember about that first day, except that he still wore that same smile borne from his never-ending zest for life, and he no longer wore a ring. I remember that we both shared the same fear of roller coasters, and that our children looked very content and beautiful walking down that constructed walkway hand in hand. Behaving. I remember leaving Dallas, and suddenly wanting to slam on my breaks and turn around on the interstate. For some reason, Kevin’s presence was no longer the norm, but instead something much more poetic. And so began a new chapter in my life and the lives of my children. In one simple weekend I learned that love is not always a mere genre.