My son, who will be 18 in October, has decided he is ready to try his wings and move out. He is only moving across town and in to a room/board situation at his employer’s house (who are also mother and step-father to a good friend of his). The departure is on very good terms; he’s not angry with us, we’re not forcing the move. He leaves with his clothes, some bedding and his personals – everything he needs will be there.
Except us.
Except me.
You know, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing when he was born. My arms felt like rolling pins, rough and clumsy. For the first year of our life together, I kept waiting for the baby-police to come along, deem me irresponsible and unfit to be his mother and take him out of my arms. Afterall, I fed him whole milk and apple juice and let him fall out of his stroller – not once, but twice - onto his head on the sidewalk before he was three.
Yet, he grew…
from this skinny little boy, with gold, professor spectacles, chewing holes in his t-shirt, doodling on everything and eat-sleep-and-breathing Pokémon until one day he was bagging groceries, smashing his shins open while skateboarding and graduating from high school.
And suddenly… he’s big.
Taller than me, yet still skinny.
Spectacled.
With the heart of a man.
For a few months, he’s been planning this move.
We supported the decision, although we didn’t expect it of him. He knows he is welcome to stay – and to come back when he needs to. We’ve had lengthy discussions about how important he is to us, how proud we are of him and how his health and happiness are our foremost concern. He has been extraordinarily patient with my reminders, my need to discuss and smother him with love. He is a gentle, loving, young man, concerned about the impact his decision to move will have on his sisters – and on me. I’ve done my best to reassure him – When I know he’s good with the decision, I’m good with it.
Today I am plagued with doubt.
Not for his ability to grow and learn and succeed.
But for the role I had in his growth.
This is purely selfish.
I’ve been dwelling on all the things I did and didn’t say.
Like, maybe I should have spent more time standing over him while he used the washer and dryer, reminding him of stupid, little details like – don’t forget to turn your socks right side out and to take your underwear out of the pant leg.
Then I think of bigger things – ‘Don’t let anyone take advantage of you. You’ve got a great heart and you need to protect yourself. Listen to your gut. Treat yourself with love. Eat good food. Take care of your body. Ask for help when you need it. Remember we’re here for you if you need to talk about anything. Or if you need lunch money. Or if you just want to come home.’
And then I worry.
What if he needs me but he’s too proud to ask?
What if he gets into trouble?
What if his heart gets broken?
Did I teach him everything he needed to know to go?
Was what I showed him, told him and gave him good enough?
Does he really know how much I want him to be well, to thrive, to live his dreams?
Does he have to start the adult rat race so early?
Can’t he play just a little longer?
Maybe I should play the parent card and force him to stay home for just one more year?
Is he really ready to go? Am I?
As there is with any journey, there is a moment of official departure. Endings and beginnings are simultaneous and bittersweet and can be filled with apprehension, regret and best wishes. Life is transformation, change and metamorphosis.
Truthfully, nothing much has changed from yesterday to today. He’s still a busy, young man, who comes and goes with work and friends and we’re still a working family with kids to raise. He and I will check in each day by phone or text. There will be a standing invitation for dinner and I’ll let him take me out for sushi now and then.
Maybe the real question I want the answer to is not – was it good enough? – but – was I good enough? And although I could find reassurance by taking credit for the young man he is becoming, instead I’ll turn back to trust, surrender and faith as the first of four chicks leave my nest.
What a blessing for me – and for him - that it is a tender departure, filled with hope, love and appreciation.
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