Mommy And Son Stories

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Mommy And Son Stories

Stories About Mother-Son Relationships


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May 5, 2021




Keisha Bush





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T he mother and son relationship is complex—fraught with pain, hurt, love and triumph.
In my debut novel, No Heaven For Good Boys , the protagonist’s mother, Maimouna, loves all of her children—but when her only son, Ibrahimah, is taken from her, she spirals into a sea of hopelessness and depression. Maimouna and Ibrahimah’s journey is hard and painful, and the entire family struggles to weather the storm, but with love and perseverance, they are both able to find their way back to the path of hope and faith. Love, not hate, saves both mother and son, and offers a lesson for us all in these stricken times. 
In the stories below, mothers and sons do not always prevail over the obstacles, but for most, it is love that illuminates the path to redemption. Maternal love is the elixir, of sorts, for the grief that can too often define the stories of our lives.
In this narrative, a son is trying to grow into a man, and his mother, forced to carry the burden of the strong Black woman, struggles to release the reins for fear that her son is not ready to face the harsh repercussions of an unjust world. When his mother finally loosens her tight grip, the son learns that being a Black man in America requires more pain than he anticipated. 
This novel, structured as a son’s letter to his mother, pulls the reader headfirst into the complicated experience of coming of age with a broken parent. Vuong explores how generational trauma and pain—in this case, the Vietnam War—are handed down from parent to child. The experiences of his mother become his own, so much so that he cannot say where the wounds of his mother’s body end and the wounds of his own begin. 
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Freeman’s poems weave through time and space, heart and emotion, in a constant flow of dualities and multitudes. To cause pain and receive pain. To lose what we hold dear, only to one day be the one someone else loses. Is it one’s duty to participate in the acquisition and loss of things and people we hold most dear? Freeman grapples with this question throughout this epic journey that centers around the life and loss of his mother, reinforcing that the love of a son for his mother is boundless and complicated. 
This time-travel story traces the complicated shared history of mother, son, and great-great-great-granddaughter and the tragedy that lies in wait for them all when love and possession cross boundaries into obsession.
A mother grapples with the loss of her son, and reflects on motherhood. In the way Maps is an ode to Freeman’s mother, Mama Phife writes to the son she has lost. “Grief is a dangerous widow,” she states and at one point poses the question, “honey when will the sun return?” In the scarce pages of this epic poem, we come to understand and see the writer’s grief in a way that anyone who has lost a loved one can recognize but may have struggled to put into words, and allows the reader to acknowledge that grief is universal and does not play favorites. 
After his mother disappears, a son searches for understanding of the life he’s supposed to make without her. Raised by a white family, he struggles to make peace with his love for his birth mother, whom he hasn’t seen in ten years, and the ideals and wants of his adoptive mother and father.                
The experience of Black motherhood in America is a very specific and solitary terror. In this visceral portrayal of a mother’s love for her Black son, we never need to meet Jamal to know how desperately his mother loves him, how complicated their love is, and the tragedy of that love in an unequal world where not all boys can be boys. Everyone is implicated in this story, as we all should be. 
Mothers are never without their faults and shortcomings, yet in this story Akiko’s abuse of her son Shuhei is irredeemable. There are no moments of joy or relief in this mother and son story, but their relationship does pose the question of whether or not people who are unfit to care for themselves should be allowed to have children. Akiko is not just irresponsible or erratic—she seems to be suffering from mental illness, needs to be in the care of others, with a long-term treatment plan. The tragic end of this story only solidifies how costly abusive parents are to the greater society, and why the right to procreate needs to be earned.
The Notorious B.I.G. weaves a tale of growing up poor, Black, and male in America, but throughout so many of these tracks is his relationship with his mother, who raised him on her own. Through the days of thugging, feelings of depression and hopefulness, and the shine of celebrity, the listener cannot deny that Biggie’s mother was a rock in his life and that he loved her dearly. His premature death felt by so many fans across the world can never compare to what his mother felt losing her child.

Keisha Bush was born and raised in Boston, Massachusetts. She received her MFA in creative writing from The New School, where she was a Riggio Honors Teaching Fellow and recipient of an NSPE Dean’s Scholarship. After a career in corporate finance and international development that brought her to live in Dakar, Senegal, she decided to focus full-time on her writing. She lives in East Harlem.


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I walked into my son’s school a few weeks ago to pick him up. He was sitting with all his friends waiting for me by the door and immediately got up when he saw me coming. Clearly, he didn’t want me coming anywhere near his friends. I got the feeling he didn’t want anyone to know he was with me. I was right.
As he got closer, he whispered, “Mom, why do you have to dress like that? Everyone stares at you.”
“No they don’t. They are probably staring at you because you are so handsome,” I told him.
“I blend in. They aren’t staring at me. They are looking at you. Why do you have to wear dresses and high heels?” For the record, I was wearing the outfit below. The nerve, right?
I decided I wanted to try something with my teenage son that day. I asked him if he wanted to dress me for a little while. I told him he could pick out my outfits and I would wear whatever he wanted me to wear as long as he had an open mind and would listen to a few things I had to say about people and the way they choose to dress, so that’s what we did.
I wanted to talk to him more about the subject and why he was feeling the way he was. And by having him choose my clothes for a while I would better understand why he wanted me to wear certain things, and maybe he would understand why I like to dress the way I do and that, really, it shouldn’t affect him as much as it does.
This was his choice for the first day. He picked out a very casual, sporty outfit, and I loved it.
While I dress like this about half the time and like this look, it doesn’t always suit me. Sometimes I feel like dressing up more, so I do. When I asked my son why he picked this out, he said because I “blended in and didn’t look out of place.” In his mind, when I dress up, I look like I don’t belong. If he only knew how many women I saw throughout the day wearing suits and heels maybe he would have a different opinion.
Regardless, I told him nobody should be judged based on how they dress — not even your very embarrassing mother . Most people wear what they are comfortable in, what makes them feel good. It doesn’t matter where it came from because this isn’t how we judge others. We focus on how they make us feel, if they are kind, how they treat people. I told him judging people for what they wear is very transparent, and he will be missing out on a lot in life if he is going to focus on making friends because of what they wear, what they have, or what they look like.
If he is comfortable dressing in a way that makes him feel like he blends in, I think that is great. However, I want him to have the inner confidence to step out of the box if he wants. If he feels like wearing something, even though none of his peers are, I want him to feel like he can.
I also let him know what someone puts on their body isn’t an invitation, for him or anyone else, ever. And he should always take heed on how he looks at people, especially women. There is a way to look at a woman without staring or gawking. No matter how you see her, she deserves respect. I don’t care what she’s wearing.
I also want my son to realize just because I am a mother it doesn’t mean I have to dress a certain way. I loved the outfits he picked for me, and dress like that on my own accord often. But I also love wearing dresses, heels, skinny jeans, and trying out new trends because that is who I am, and who I was long before I became his mother. It’s not my intention to embarrass him. It is my intention to be myself, and him making comments or telling me he doesn’t want to go anywhere with me because of the way I dress is hurtful (as normal as it is).
A few days ago, I discussed these “lessons” I was trying to teach him with a friend and she told me he would “take all these lessons and bake them into a gentleman pie.” I really hope she is right.

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They say mothers and sons have a close relationship, but this story may take the cake.
Taking to internet forum Reddit, a woman only known by her screenname of ‘u/chewbawkaw’ explained that she’d been seeing her 30-year-old boyfriend for about a year and recently went on holiday with him and his family. It was one of the first times she’d had a chance to get to know her in-laws, who live in a different state.
While the parents were warm and welcoming, the woman couldn’t help but notice her partner’s mother was very touchy-feely towards her sons . Most parents are fond of a cuddle and a kiss, but she explained that it was nothing compared to what she experienced on the holiday.
For example, her partner would be in his bathing suit and his mother would come from behind and wrap her arms around him, caressing his chest and nuzzling his neck.
“She also did that once while my boyfriend and I were kissing,” the woman added.
Another time, the couple were sharing a cuddle in bed when the mother came out of her room and laid on top of her son, exposing her underwear. However, she said the mother was even closer with her other son.
“He would be in his little twin bed napping in just boxer briefs and she would come up in her nightie and spoon him,” she explained. “She would stroke his chest, thighs, back and arms. He would pull up her shirt to stroke her belly and would rub her body as well.”
The brother would regularly tell his mother how beautiful she was, although the woman said it would be sweet if she wasn’t rubbing her naked body on her son when he was saying it. The woman said no one in the family seemed bothered by the touching and even noticed the husband paying his wife plenty of attention.
“I also want to reiterate that I DO NOT think that this is a sexual thing (hopefully) between his family,” she wrote. “It just doesn’t seem like they ever updated their personal boundaries. Like if her kids were 4 years old instead of 30 this probably wouldn’t look as weird…right?”
She acknowledged that normal is subjective and that it’s just the standard people are used to, but questioned if it would be weird if she was in bed wearing a bikini with her own father spooning her.
“Most of me feels like I should just keep my mouth shut because he has two parents and a brother that love him to the moon and back,” she continued. “On the other hand, if he was raised in an environment where what would be typically considered sexual touching was used as non-sexual affection, it makes sense that he has been struggling with physical boundaries now that he lives away from his community.”
Other Reddit users offered their opinions and advice for the woman.
One person wrote: “This is very, very weird and inappropriate, and the mother is the one instigating it.”
Another comment read: “If you are an intuitive person than it would be a good idea to press your bf [boyfriend] a little bit about how far the mother goes. Gauge his reactions and figure out what to do next. He may need some help.”
A third added: “I was thoroughly disturbed by this post. That woman is creepy. Mothers don’t cuddle their barely clad adult sons while they’re wearing little nighties. And neither do adult sons lift their mother’s top to stroke their belly. Ick. In what reality is this all NOT sexual? If you and your boyfriend take your relationship to the next step, be prepared for creepy mommy to view you as competition that needs to be eliminated.”
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There’s mom fantasy and then there’s mom reality. I used to be one of those smug moms to be who swore she wouldn’t let herself go. Post baby life will be glorious! My meticulously styled hair would whip slightly in the gentle breezes, I’d smell like a Bulgarian rose, and frolic at the playground with my two cherubs all day long.
My reality as a mother is beautiful, but it’s the kind of beauty only another mom would appreciate. Beautiful but not always pretty. There is sometimes shame. Secrets I keep to myself and hold on to tightly. In the spirit of camaraderie, I’m opening the vault. Fellow moms, you are not alone. Or maybe my shameful self is alone.
Either way here are a few of my shameful mom confessions for your reading pleasure.
I thought it’d be super cute to make my children little mugs of hot chocolate with a dollop of marshmallow fluff on top after a few hours spent playing in the late autumn cold. They were seated and enjoying themselves so I seized the moment, left the room, and got to work on a pile of dishes. Bad idea. My two-year old daughter rubbed the marshmallow fluff into her hair like candy shampoo while my three-year old soon gleefully cheered her on.
As I picked the large chunks out of her hair I checked the clock. Bedtime. Do I delay bedtime and wrangle two cranky kids into the tub alone, or go about my business as if nothing happened? That’s right. I let my child sleep with some marshmallow fluff in her hair.
I was exhausted and in no mood to endure the horrible shrill screams my daughter subjects me to during shampooing. No, thank you. She wasn’t carried away by a colony of ants in the middle of the night and I gave her a bath in the morning. Shameful? Maybe but I got some much needed sleep.
I wear yoga pants, but I hate yoga. I know I’m not alone but I take yoga pants wearing to shameful new levels. I buy yoga pants with the precision and meticulous research normal people save for purchasing their first home. They’ve got to have the right cut, stretchy fabric, and some sort of stomach panel.
I know what you’re thinking and yes I really should get back to my 18% body fat pre kids shape, but until I have the time to spend two hours a day i
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