Remember those carefree days in the ’80s when you could ride your bike around town without a worry in the world? Back then, you might have rummaged through the family junk drawer, overflowing with miscellaneous items, to dig up some coins for the ice cream truck’s catchy tune echoing from a block away. Oh, how I adored the ScrewBall, the one with bubble gum hidden at the bottom. Those were truly simpler times.
However, everything changed in 1989 when I was just 11. The anxiety levels of my mother shifted from merely protective to a constant state of worry. On October 22, 1989, Jacob Wetterling was abducted while biking with his brother and a friend in our small Minnesota town. His kidnapping shattered our sense of safety. Jacob and I were born in the same year, and though we never met, his family felt like our own. I vividly remember my mother in tears, praying for his safe return, only for us to learn decades later that he had been tragically murdered that night.
As the ’90s arrived, I entered my teenage years — which my kids jokingly refer to as “The Ice Ages.” Back then, technology was a far cry from today. We had no cell phones, no social media platforms. Instead, we had one device: the pager. It was a small black box that allowed people to send messages, prompting you to find a payphone to call them back. I taught my mom to page me “911” in case of emergencies, but as a 16-year-old, a drive-in movie with friends was far more enticing than a call home. When I finally rolled in at 3 a.m. to find her wide awake and furious, I learned the hard way about late-night check-ins.
My mother weathered my teenage years, bless her. Then came my 20s, filled with new boyfriends and life changes. Mom had to adjust to my independence, even though her worries never faded. I only truly understood her anxious nature after I became a mother myself at age 26. Before that, I viewed her as overly cautious.
“Once you become a mother, you’re always a mother,” she told me, and she couldn’t have been more right. The moment my son arrived, everything shifted. Two years later, when my daughter was born, my capacity for love and protection deepened, and I finally grasped my mother’s unwavering love for me.
Now in my 40s, watching my own children grow while my mother ages, I still make it a point to check in with her. Despite feeling like an adult, I will always be her little girl. My mother still worries. Time may have passed, and I now have my own family, but she remains my mom, continuing her role as a caregiver. So, on nights when I work late, I make sure to call her to confirm I’m safe. When she and Dad come to help me at night, I cherish those moments.
Yes, I realize I may be feeding into her anxieties, but I’m perfectly fine with that. She’s been the most wonderful mother anyone could ask for. There’s no fairy tale background or perfect upbringing; just an abundance of love that I now extend to my children.
If you had told my rebellious 16-year-old self that I’d one day treasure these check-ins with my mom, I would’ve rolled my eyes and reapplied my lip gloss. Now, I actually look forward to those calls, knowing that one day they may end and my heart will feel a significant void.
So, even in my 40s, I’m still reaching out to you, Mom. Because once a daughter, always a daughter.
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Summary:
This piece reflects on the enduring bond between a daughter and her mother, highlighting how love and concern persist despite the years. From carefree childhood memories to the complexities of adulthood, the author showcases the importance of maintaining that connection, even in the face of life’s challenges.