A Glorious Mystery

An unexpected conversation reminds Andrea Vij that the mother-son relationship can go through cycles—some glorious, and some mysterious.

On Wednesday morning at 7:15, the first light of day creeps in through the blinds as I sit, rosary in hand, marking off my beads. “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son …” 

Upstairs a bedroom door opens. I hear the creak of a floorboard followed by a sniff and a cough. My son is up earlier than usual. Hopefully he won’t come down yet; I want to finish my Rosary. “Oh, my Jesus, forgive us our sins …” 

Another creak, then feet on stairs, heading down. “The third Glorious Mystery, the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles …” 

I turn my head to find my bleary-eyed teenager lurching sleepily toward me, hair askew, his body wrapped in the plush white blanket he stole from my bed three years ago. It seems the Apostles will have to wait. 

My Growing Boy 

“I have a bad headache,” he announces without ceremony. 

“Are you saying you can’t go to school today?” 

“Just saying I have a headache.” 

“Okay, what can I do?” 

He shrugs and looks down at the floor. I stand and wrap my arms around him from the side, the awkward kind of hug that barely satisfies but will likely remain the best I can expect until he’s a little older. I give my boy a gentle squeeze and then lead him — six feet tall, all arms and legs — to the oversized leather chair in the living room, where I cover him with another blanket, tuck him in all around, and offer to bring him a slice of homemade bread. He accepts.  

“Do you want some coffee too?”  

“Is coffee good for headaches?” 

“Sometimes. I’ll pour you some.” 

I set the bread and coffee on the table, and with my son all settled in, the Apostles beckon. “I’ll be in the sunroom if you need me … or do you want me to sit with you?” 

“It’d be nice.” 

Surprised, I sit on the ottoman and rest my hand on his blanket-covered knee. This growing young man, who used to cuddle with me on a moment’s notice, rarely seems to want me around anymore, so I have to grab these opportunities when they arise. He closes his eyes and rubs his head. “It’s in my temples, you know?” 

“Maybe you’re just tired. You had a long day yesterday.” 

A Conversation About Nothing 

He takes a bite of bread, sips the coffee, and proceeds for whatever reason to make chitchat. First, he reminds me that he prefers sourdough bread, so that’s what I should make the next time. Then he tells me his English class is reading The Alchemist, but all the other classes are reading The Catcher in the Rye. I offer to read The Catcher in the Rye with him over the summer, and he says that might be all right.

Next he complains that the debate team has to ride in a school bus for three hours to reach their tournament on Saturday, but he wishes they could get a charter bus. Wouldn’t that be more comfortable? Suddenly he remembers he’s getting low on cash and asks if I can go to the ATM for him; then he tells me in great detail about the overpriced drink he ordered at Starbucks yesterday after school.  

The sun has barely risen and here we sit, mother and son, having a relaxed, impromptu conversation about nothing much at all. And thankfully, I have the presence of mind to recognize that sometimes a conversation about nothing means everything in the world.  

Perspective  

I’ve talked with other moms who recount similar experiences with their teenage sons. Sometimes we look back together at how sweet and affectionate our little guys once were and wonder what God had in mind when He created adolescence, with all its growing pains and awkward interactions. The wisest perspective comes from parents of young adults who have lived through it and survived. “You’ll get him back,” they say, “but it may take a few years.” 

In the meantime, I give my son permission to interrupt my Rosary any time he likes, for a talk about nothing or anything at all. 

As 8:00 approaches, we decide it won’t hurt for him to stay home from school for just one day. My son and his aching head lurch back up to bed, and I carry the dishes to the sink, wondering what in the world brought on this priceless early morning encounter. Then, bemused and content, I return to the Apostles. 

“The third Glorious Mystery …” 

Glorious mystery, indeed. 

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Copyright 2025 Andrea Vij
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