Yesterday, I shared a delightful picture of my youngest daughter, Mia, swinging in the park. At just 2 years old, she has blonde curls and sparkling blue-green eyes that remind me of my own mother at that age. I sent the photo to Mom with a note saying how much Mia resembles her. Her response? An enthusiastic “LOL. Yes, she sure does!” It’s fascinating to think that my mom, now in her early 60s and a smartphone user for only a couple of years, has revitalized our relationship through this technology.
Don’t get me wrong; we don’t have a toxic relationship, but it is certainly complicated. When I was 12, after my father left and before he passed away, I moved out while my mother was working her second job. It was a turbulent time, and I felt overwhelmed. I bounced around for a while, trying to live with my father, which didn’t pan out, and eventually found myself living with my paternal grandmother—someone I adored, but my mother did not.
There’s a lot more to that backstory, but the essence is that our relationship has always carried the weight of those past events. Now, at 33, with three children of my own, I long for my mother to be an active part of their lives. Unfortunately, each time we talk, it seems our conversations are clouded with remnants of our past difficulties. I want her to know what my kids are doing and for them to know their grandmother, but the distance—both physical, as she lives in Utah and I in Oregon, and emotional—makes it tough. In the seven years since my wife and I moved, I estimate she has seen the kids maybe seven to ten times.
To bridge this gap, I’ve taken to sending her photos and videos of the kids a couple of times a week: moments of joy, like playing in the yard or enjoying ice cream. Our text exchanges are often brief, with her sending love to the kids and occasionally asking what gifts they would like for their birthdays. While this may seem odd to friends with more traditional relationships with their parents, this is the best connection I’ve had with my mother. It allows us to avoid reliving old grievances, and instead, we share pictures and emojis, making the past feel less relevant. My kids are blissfully unaware of the underlying tension, though my wife has noticed it during our video calls or visits.
Interestingly, my mom recently joined Facebook, and while she may be a bit late to the party, it has opened another channel for us to connect. She comments on my posts, and I do the same on hers. When my children see Grandma’s updates, they eagerly ask to see what she’s up to. It’s heartwarming to see this new form of communication helping us, even if it isn’t the ideal relationship we both wish for.
In some ways, this digital connection gives me hope. It inspires me to strengthen my bond with my children, knowing how important these relationships are. Maybe, just maybe, texting and social media can help lay the groundwork for a renewed relationship with my mother—one where we can share advice and conversation without the shadow of past mistakes hanging over us.
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Summary:
In this narrative, Alex shares his experience of maintaining a relationship with his mother through modern technology, particularly text messages and social media. Despite a complicated past shaped by family dynamics, he finds joy in sharing moments of his children’s lives with her. This new method of communication serves as a foundation for healing their relationship, allowing for connection without the weight of past grievances.