“You need to quit apologizing. Life is a learning process.” My dad grinned. “And I’ve learned that everything gets better when you have pancakes and bacon.”
We shared a laugh together and had a wonderful group hug.
As odd as it sounded, I was back.
My parents were amazing.
I had left and done my own thing with my career while they carried on with their lives, but there was no resentment on their part. They weren’t mad. They didn’t give me crap about it. It was like that break never existed. They had told me they were happy if I was happy, and that was the only thing that mattered.
After breakfast, Mom and I cleaned up.
Dad went to Home Depot to get light bulbs.
I was deep in thought, thinking about my mom’s life and how she gave up her career for me.
My mom leaned forward, trying to get a look at my face. “Everything okay, sweetie?”
I wiped down the top of the pancake grill. “I guess.”
“Something seems to be on your mind.”
I nodded. “Yeah . . . I was curious, actually.”
“What is it?”
I stopped wiping and turned to her. “Why did you give up on your dreams when I was born?”
She stared at me for a moment. “Who said I did?”
“I know the whole story, mom. You had a bright future ahead of you as a painter. Then you just gave it all up.”
We had never talked about this before.
“Sweetie, where is all this coming from? I didn’t give up a single thing when you were born.”
“You’re telling me you didn’t give up an amazing career?”
She sat down on the chair in front of the easel. “I love painting, but I always considered it secondary because the only thing I really wanted was to have a baby girl. Ask your father! When I had you, I was set. I didn’t need anything else to be fulfilled. And I have no regrets. Not one.”
“But you gave up painting for me.”
“No, I didn’t. Your dad made plenty of money to take care of us and I was all for it. All I wanted to do was take care of you. I don’t know where you got that from or why you think I gave up anything, because it couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m fortunate to be one of those people in the world whose life turned out just the way I wanted it to.”
“You’re not just saying that?”
Mom laughed. “No, sweetie. Follow me. I want to show you something.”
I followed her upstairs and down the hall to the guest bedroom in the back. I really can’t even remember if I have ever stepped in that room this century.
My mom pushed open the door and motioned for me to go in.
I stepped inside and froze.
The room was full of paintings.
There must have been a hundred of them.
Rows and rows of paintings were on the floor, leaning against each other ten deep.
Including one unfinished painting on an easel.
All were signed at the bottom by my mom.
I spun around to look at everything. “What’s all this?”
“A new passion project of mine that I started this year. This is what you claim I gave up.”
I blinked a couple of times, more confused than ever. “I don’t understand. What exactly is going on here? What are you doing with all the paintings?”
She smiled. “I have my own business now. Well, maybe business is not the right term.”
I flipped through the paintings leaning against the wall. I didn’t know much about art, but I loved the colors and the simplicity. There was a young girl looking up into the stars in the sky, smiling. She actually reminded me of me when I was young. The odd thing was, they were all identical.
“Why are all the paintings the same?”
My mom pointed to them proudly. “That has been my bestseller by far. I have been mass-duplicating it. I call it, ‘The Girl with Stars in Her Eyes.’” She smiled. “It’s the story of a young girl who dreams big and shoots for the stars. She isn’t ever afraid to go for it, whether it’s learning to whistle, riding a bike, or playing soccer.” My mom kissed me on the forehead. “That’s you, sweetie.”
“Me?” I stepped closer to the unfinished painting on the easel, deep in thought.
“Of course. Ever since you were a little girl, you’ve always gotten whatever you wanted when you put your mind to it. And that has continued into your adult life, even today. I’ve always believed in you, but more important than that, you have always believed in you.”
I nodded. “It’s beautiful. I love it.” I turned to her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this?”
She shrugged. “You’ve been busy.”
My BS detector was sounding a full alert with my own mom.
This may have been a first.
“Mom, there’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”
She sighed. “Fine.” She thought about it. “It’s just . . . I didn’t want to make you feel bad.”
“Why would I feel bad that you portrayed me in a beautiful piece of art like this?”
“Well . . . it’s just, you’ve been obsessed with your career—”
“Motivated,” I corrected her.
“Right. Motivated. Anyway, you’ve been so focused on rising to the top and making all that money that I didn’t think you would like it very much if I was doing the complete opposite, giving all my money away.”
“Okay, wait, what do mean you’re giving all your money away?” I glanced around the room again. “You don’t make any money when you sell these?”
She shook her head. “Not a single penny. I’ve been selling these paintings for years and donating all the money to charities. Meals on Wheels. The Wildlife Conservation Society. And a few other charities that are near and dear to my heart.”
I never knew this side of my mom existed.
“It’s such a joy to help others.” She shrugged. “And I don’t need the money.”
Now, she sounded like Nick, which made me feel worse.
So many people were doing good in the world and I suddenly felt inadequate for not doing my part to contribute to something, anything.
My mom was right.
I had been obsessed.
“Are you mad at me, sweetie?”
I stared at my mom, shocked that she would ask such a thing. “What? No! How could I be mad at you, Mom? What you’re doing here is beautiful. It’s wonderful. It’s kind on so many levels. I’m so proud of you, you have no idea.” I hugged her and then pulled away, thinking about my own life. “I’m beginning to realize that the last ten years of my life have been a huge mistake.”
“There are no mistakes, only lessons.”
“Well then, my lesson is that I have to pay more attention. I thought you had given up everything and my only goal since then was to make sure that I didn’t do the same. And oddly enough, I thought that would make you happy and that you could live vicariously through me.”
“Oh, no, honey. I would never want to have your life. I would die from the stress or maybe something caused by the stress. I don’t know how you can live like that, but you seem to love it. Who am I to judge or make you feel bad about your lifestyle?”