La misma luna

A few weeks ago we watched La Misma Luna (Under the Same Moon). A young Mexican single mother leaves her five-year-old son with his grandmother as she makes the dangerous trek up to Los Angeles to find a better life for them. She sends him money and talks to him on the phone every week for four years, promising they'll see each other soon, planning to become a U.S. citizen before sending for him...until, just days after his ninth birthday, his grandmother dies and so the boy decides to find his mother himself.

The movie is sweet and unassuming, the plot simple, the metaphors clear (lots of crosswalks, for example). Its message may filter to a viewer differently depending on his or her own experiences and beliefs--the plight of an illegal immigrant in the United States certainly being a strong theme--and actually I am very interested in immigration. Another very compelling movie about immigration, by the way, is El Norte (The North).

But what struck me the most was a mother's love for her son and his for her, impossible in this case for imposing borders, shouting immigration officers, or sniffing, barking dogs to compromise. Until I had a son I never thought about that bond much, since, obviously, I'm a girl and had never been privy to it. I remember when Theo was first born, the sound bite I heard most often from others was: "Little boys love their mothers."

I love the stories that Matt has told me of his childhood memories of his mother. My favorite, shared with his permission, is one of his early adolescence. Matt, the youngest and the only child at home, left dozens of friends and cousins and all things familiar to move with his parents from Ogden, Utah to Fargo, North Dakota when he was about to enter eighth grade. On the first day of school, he wanted to wear shorts but his mom made him wear pants. It was a hard day for him for a number of reasons. When his mom picked him up after school that day, he got in the car and she asked him how it had gone. The stoic thirteen-year-old got emotional as he described how painful it was to be the new kid and the only one at school wearing pants instead of shorts. He looked over at his mom and she, looking back at him, had tears in her eyes.

I love that story. I love that even though Matt is still a very stoic guy (and very much a "guy," having grown up with all brothers) he still loves his mother that much, and she him. I always want my son to know of my love for him and of my constant presence should he need me. Matt and I never sneak out when a babysitter comes; we always say goodbye and promise we'll see him later. So on a few occasions, if Theo is already nervous or tired and I have stepped out of the room or forgotten to tell him I'm getting the mail, Theo has become distraught wondering where I've gone. When I've realized his concern I've come back to him and promised him, "I am here. I would never leave you."

I know that he will grow up and grow apart from me step by step until it's time for him to start his life on his own. Happily, the chances of our being separated before he's ready for it are slim. But he will inch away. Someday he'll bound away. Sooner or later his first thought when he needs help won't be to look for me. Already, after I open the car door for him, he climbs in while saying forcefully, "BYE!" I say, "Bye!" and close the door and he frantically buckles himself in as though I might come back and, heaven forbid, buckle him in myself. He does the same "BYE!" whenever he has a friend over to play. Kind of hilarious actually. He's like a mini teenager.

But even if he doesn't want me to be, I will always be there. I love my relationship with my son. I am relishing the stage we're in now. It's the stage where, every morning, he scampers into the kitchen for his oatmeal, calling on his way, "Froggie bowl dirty?" It's the stage where, every night, after the day's 800 tantrums and time-outs, he burrows down under his blanket, looks up at me in the dark, flashes the ILY sign and whispers "I love you."

I love that we sleep not only under the same moon, but under the same roof. I know that as normal as it may seem, seeing my own young son every day, showing him how to do new things, holding his hand, tucking him in, smelling his hair, watching him grow, is a precious blessing that not every mother is able to claim.

I love my sweet Theo! Who wouldn't, right?