The "H" word

We were standing in the middle of the department store when the sound of those three words came hurtling towards me like a venomous bolt of lightning, so loud that they seemed to silence every other sound--even the screaming infants-- of the post Black Friday frenzy.

"I HATE YOU."

They weren't said loudly, rather in more of a whisper, but to me they were deafening in their absolutism.

I locked eyes with my youngest child, my sweet, nurturing, loving, six year old, and the look in her eyes revealed that she knew just how powerful these words were even though she had never uttered them from her lips.

I felt my knees go limp, my resolve in my mandated punishment from moments before weakening as the force of her words grasped my heart with bloody talons, shredding it into a million pieces. But, I held firm, not willing to back down to the emotional havoc that her statement wrecked on every ounce of my soul. My mind was flooded with the memories of all of the hurtful words I had spat at my mother during my adolescence, and suddenly the grief of everything was too much to bare. I felt my chin quivering as the tears welled up in my eyes.

Stay strong, mama, stay strong. Don't back down. And I didn't.

She must have seen the look of total pain and dejection on my face even though I tried to hide it from her. Her eyes filled, and big, crocodile tears starting rolling uncontrollably down her tiny, beautiful, face. She began to sob--deep, belly sobs that shook all 42 pounds of her small frame--as she tried to take back those three unforgettable words. But just like me, she knew that nothing could ever take back that moment and undo the damage that hurting someone so thoroughly does.

I am a seasoned mom. My oldest is just a few months shy of turning 13, so unfortunately I have heard these words spoken to me before. And as much as I would like to believe that I will never be the recipient of such anger again, I know I will be. Even though I have felt these painful emotions before, it doesn't get any easier. If anything it almost seems to get harder. And even though both of my grandmothers and my own mother have told me that "being hated at certain moments" is just a mark of strong parenting, I hate it. These moments make me want to crawl into a quiet, private space alone and run away for just a few minutes from the dark moments that accompany parenthood...the dark moments that people don't warn you about and certainly don't willingly share.

My oldest and I have always had a firey relationship. From the moment he was born he relished in pushing my buttons, fighting dirty just to see how far he could push me before I exploded. Because of this, I expected his "I hate yous", so when they came I was already bracing myself for their impact. They still hurt, but I had already started to prepare myself for their arrival so I would cry briefly and then shrug them off.

But my youngest, she has always been my kindred spirit. Since the moment she was born, her total adoration of me was palpable even to my husband who used to call her "Kim's baby." She only wanted to be held by me, rocked by me, comforted by me. She would barely let her own dad hold her yet alone anyone else. Mom was it, and everyone else simply paled in comparison. Every day since she could talk she has told me that I'm beautiful, smart, amazing, perfect. That she never wants to leave me. That she will always be my baby and my best friend. That no matter what, she loves me so much she doesn't know how to even tell me how much it is. That she wants to be just like me. She is the one of my three children who is in tune with my emotions, wanting nothing but to help me feel better when I am stressed or sick. When the other two kids are oblivious to the fact that mommy is sick and throwing up in the bathroom, she is wiping my head with a washcloth, bringing me water, and rubbing my back. Her perfect day, in her words, is to lay with me and snuggle from morning to night. "I hate you" has never been a part of this equation.

Needless to say, I never saw it coming. I didn't take the time to prepare myself for this moment.

But, it did happen. In the aftermath of our shared grief, I took her tiny hand in mine. When that wasn't enough, I picked her up right in the middle of that crowded department store and held her and rocked her and whispered in her ear that everything would be alright. I wiped the tears from her tiny face, cradled her chin in my hand, looked her right in the eyes, and told her "I love you."

"I love you too, mommy."

We hugged and cried together until all of our tears were gone. People were staring at us, but I didn't care. Parenting...it doesn't stop for the socially correct moment. It can't be put on pause until you are alone and away from the gapes of strangers. And, most importantly, it is the most important job in the world and takes priority over everything else that is happening around you no matter what the circumstances may be.

I love you, Macey. You will always be my baby and my best friend, no matter what happens.