It Takes a Village To Raise a Child

[I promised when I started up this blog again that I would tell the truth, so here goes.]

There's an old African proverb that goes like this: "It takes a village to raise a child." When my girls were growing up, there were three women who helped raise them, who were their second mothers so to speak. The women of our tribal village in the midst of the Metroplex. The only one that is still a big part of their lives is Susan.

Susan has been the sister I never had and more family to me than my own blood relatives. She probably knows that, but what she doesn't know is that she was also my role model for being a mother to daughters. You see, when I was a young married woman, I told God I wanted sons because my relationship with my mother was so difficult. And God, in his infinite wisdom, gave me daughters. The experience of raising girls has been what Erica Jong would call "exorcising the mother demon."

I put my daughters first for 20 years and did a pretty good job with them, along with Wesley who is a loving, supportive, and patient father and husband. Then, as most of you know, in 2004 I had to do something drastic to put myself first, even though it would hurt my grown children. If you've been divorced, you know the intensity of divorce pain and the subsequent guilt. I know I will carry this guilt to my grave. It has lessened a little bit over time, but it rears its ugly head from time to time.

I humbly admit I envy women whose families are intact. Marriages are living organisms which means sometimes they die, and it's no one's fault. That's what happened to mine -- arguably 8 years before I moved out of the house. It died and I didn't know it. And once I saw the truth, I couldn't do anything about it except move on.

Now when the girls come to visit they need a place to stay that isn't a painful reminder, a sanctuary from the reality of the divorce. So, they stay at Mike and Susan's Bed & Breakfast. It's like Disneyland for grandkids over there. I'm so very grateful that Maggie and Joanna and their growing families have a comfortable, loving and welcoming place to stay.

But, damn, it hurts, too. Each time they come to town, I have to work hard and stay in my right mind about the whole thing. As Michelle reminded me at lunch today, it's not a reflection of my mothering that they don't come to my house. They prefer to go to Susan's. I have to remember to put M & J first and be grateful they have a place where they are comfortable and happy.

It's not about me. Right? It's about them, my little girls. And what they need and want.

Thank you, Susan.
xoxoxo

Go here to see the It Takes a Village book by Jane Cowen-Fletcher.