The Unanswered Telephone

I left home for college when I was seventeen and I never looked back. My mother told me she cried for a week after dropping me off. I could never figure out why. I didn’t shed any tears when I sent my own daughter off on her collegiate journey, because despite her geographical distance, in so many ways it was as if she never left.

It’s all because of the cell phone. I was in Los Angeles and my daughter was all the way across the country in New York, but a call cost the same and had similar content as all the calls we’d ever made or received when she was in high school. “Can I buy ...” was a common question. Or, “I have to write an English paper and I have no idea where to begin.” And the ever popular, “Hey, Mom, put some money in my account, okay?”

She learned to let go, I learned to flyMy mother got calls like this from me when I was away at school, I suppose, only in those days it was long distance. We never spoke more than once a week, and even those calls were pre-arranged. Sure, it was because we had to be careful about money. More importantly though, I’m sure my mother knew that she had to give me space. Our relationship changed. She learned to let go. I learned to fly.

Today, our children aren’t doing quite as much flying when they leave the nest. They are still tethered to us by electronic connections that in some ways strengthen the parent/child bond, but in others diminish it.

Our children don’t learn to internalize our voices. They don’t have to. We’re constantly in their ears. I am starting to wonder if rather than absorb our lessons, they learn very early to shut them out.

All this is reverberating for me as I learn to deal with the sudden transformation of my own relationship with my daughter. She got married a little over a month ago, and for the first time, we are trying to learn a new way to relate. Let me rephrase that. I am trying to learn a new way to relate.

I have to admit I didn’t see this coming. It honestly didn’t occur to me that with a husband, not only wouldn’t she need me quite so much, she actually wouldn’t pick up the phone so often. Even worse, I’m not supposed to call her all the time! And in case I’m not getting that message, she simply doesn’t answer the phone. I hear it ringing. I know she hears it ringing. And I know she’s looking at that caller ID and ignoring my call. My rational brain knows it’s because she has a partner she can turn to now for emotional support. My irrational heart says, “But I’m your mother. Pick up the phone!”

I’m trying desperately not to turn into the annoying mother from afarI’m trying. Really I am. But this is all so new and so unexpected. My friends are laughing. They can afford to. Their daughters aren’t married yet. I, on the other hand, struggle daily, even hourly, with the knowledge that this is the way it’s supposed to be. I am supposed to let go. And so I restrain myself, and retrain myself. I force myself not to call her quite so much, and I try not to worry that she’s been hit by a truck every time she doesn’t answer the phone. I’m trying desperately not to turn into the annoying mother from afar, with unwanted and unnecessary advice for everything from how to comparison shop to how to clean a bathroom. I’m not succeeding terribly well. It is more difficult than I ever thought it would be to allow my little girl to be a grown woman, and to understand that she and her loving mate are figuring everything out for themselves. Even more, they’re having fun doing it.

It’s missing out on the fun that’s driving me the craziest. I want to know all the details: what does her closet look like? What do they eat for breakfast? Do they do the dishes every night? It’s all silliness, I know, and even more important, none of my business.

In the olden days, I suppose, when your mother lived down the street, there was a different sort of tension. If she showed up unannounced, you either welcomed her in or set ground rules if her intrusions became overwhelming. Today, with parents and children often living far apart, it’s the telephone that becomes the intrusion. And caller ID is the solution. When my daughter wants to be left alone, she simply doesn’t answer the phone. This is a difficult lesson for me, but one I am trying very hard to absorb without rancor.

I constantly find myself repeating to myself, “She is supposed to break away. She is supposed to grow strong and independent. She is supposed to be happy without maternal care.” I hope that soon I will start to believe the affirmations.

The Torah says, “A man shall leave his father and his mother and shall cleave to his wife, and they shall become one flesh,”(Genesis 2:24). The same is true for a woman. She and her mate were one at birth; The first time she called for a recipe was as exciting as her first step marriage is reconnecting with her other half. The truth is, there’s no room for Mommy in that equation. And while the Torah also teaches us to honor our father and mother, as parents our job is to raise our children to prepare them for life without us.

I’m truly thankful for my daughter’s wonderful new husband, and for her independence. Deep down, though,I must admit that the first time she called me for a recipe was as exciting as her first step. Even better was the next call, when she told me she’d found a recipe of her own.

At my daughter’s wedding, after I held her arm and guided her in circles around her mate, I stood back and listened to all the blessings. And as I looked around at the shining faces of her friends and family, and particularly, her new in-laws and handsome young husband, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. She was going to be safe. She was going to be happy. She was going to live a life of her own choosing, for which she was fully prepared. I relaxed in the knowledge that my work was done.

In many ways, the days leading up to my daughter’s wedding were like the days leading up to her birth. I carried her, and then I pushed her out into the world. The difference is, this time around she has a husband at her side. And with G-d’s support, surrounded by a loving community, I know deep down she’s going to be fine.

Now, if I can only get her to answer the phone…