Gentle Readers...
All through this long year I wanted to put pen to paper and make it all better. Unfortunately, it just hasn't been possible to sit and write, with abandon and fervor, emptying my heart of its bittersweet aches and pains. I've clutched all the details, words, angst, and feelings firmly, perhaps afraid, in the end, of what the surrender would cost.
I want not to pay the toll, but instead, only to feel the relief of an empty soul. Do you ever feel that way? Do you ever just want to be on the other side of something or somewhere and maybe you can't even name what is wearing heavy around your neck? If you find yourself understanding that statement then you will be able to sit next to me and listen.
I lost my position at work earlier this year. Changes were made and I was removed from my team and placed in an adjacent group. Kept close enough to be used, but removed enough, and in a way that was actually, incredibly painful. It felt like injustice and retaliation after years of struggle to climb up the corporate mountain. Simply put, these situations are never easy, and the big picture doesn't always reflect the reality of how it feels. It stings the soul. We worker bees, we have feelings and it's hard even if we understand business is business. For me, to start off with corporate betrayal, it came to home to roost more personally; they gave my department to my husband which is what required my relocation. These are the casualties when you work at the same company, but it made the grief process and struggle that much more difficult for me.
A few days later, I taught my last baby son how to drive a car. It was exhausting to hit the required number of parent supervised driving hours. He never wanted to go at a convenient time, but I tried to be faithful to be in the present, knowing that these, were good days. I knew that these tiring and precious moments would sneak out the corners of my eyes in years to come; and, if I was not careful, those warm and salty memories would also hold the weight of regret. It was the longest and shortest six weeks of our last time together as a couple. A mom and her son moving, as though time has slowed, through the last miles that will open the door to a lifetime of tomorrows away. Readers. He raced through that door and barely waved goodbye. I see him. Sometimes. His eyes, so like mine, meet my gaze and I count it, joy.
In this same window, I prayed, worried, cajoled, poked, prodded, pushed, then seemingly, by sheer force of will that I didn't possess; and, quite possibly with one foot on a banana peel, I arrived at the high school graduation ceremony of my first baby son. In equal parts I desperately needed this day to happen and ached that it was. Can you ever hear Pomp & Circumstance and not get a little misty? Parents of past seniors, you know exactly what I mean. I am speaking into the void with full confidence that I am not the only parent that comprehends all the unspoken scenarios within that rather run on description. For weeks, I was at a dead stop. What is my role here? What happened to my parenting journey? Where is the manual? Did you check the glove box? Is it under the bed? Do we take this one back? Can he stay forever? Can I give him away? Complete and utter loss, yet, an ever constant underlying Mom ache to be at the end. I cannot remember a time I felt more uncertain as a parent. This coupled with the idea that the end was so very unlovely and not within the scope of dreams was more than I could bear. It's not supposed to be like this, its supposed to be something beautiful, poignant, with the appropriate amount of tissues and broad fanfare. Readers, it does not get more real than this. This is life. The pictures we paint, the words we compile, the dreams we dream, end differently than expected. This does not mean the event was not well celebrated, that pride and joy were not in attendance, just that I had always expected this sort of "cutting the ties" to be more of a gentle letting go with soft jazz and longing looks rather than an abrupt, no eye contact, Metallica experience. That one is on me. This is my first go round.
As I now fully turn to face head on what this new season of parenthood means, Ryan and the constant mercy of God are the bedrock of my days. In this season, I learn that my children are complete and separate adults. Their actions and consequences are their own. All of their young life I took their actions to be a reflection of my skill and acceptability as a parent. In this stage, I must learn that their actions are not a reflection of me. More than at any other time in their life, I must love them as they are and not who I expect or want them to be. Readers. It makes sense and we know it in heads and in our hearts but we still kinda see them as that chunky baby with the million dollar smile and not as the flailing young adult before us. Here is the truth, almost everyone will scoop up and love on a chunky baby but almost no one will come alongside, reach out a hand, and love on a struggling , questioning, young adult. I think children need their parents in this phase. I think what the actual need is, just isn't clear to any of us or doesn't look like we might expect. To be honest, I absolutely hated my young adulthood, I think it's the worst time in a person's life so when someone says I wish I was twenty-two again, I say, "Are you nuts?" Then, I look at my beloved son, with grace. These are not easy days, these are days of difficult, authentic, and necessary, transition; and, my heart knows that one day not too far in the future, the treasures of today will be visible.
I face the Autumn with hope.
