At about 10 a.m. the fact that Nick was leaving hit my like a 2x4 upside the head. That's when the emotions and waterworks were dangerously close to hi-jacking my day. I sent a quick text to a friend for prayers for composure, and it worked. Other than one exasperating tearful episode, I made it through. The last thing my excited yet apprehensive son needed was his emotional mother to spontaneously combust before his eyes.
As I am well-aware, my experience is not unique. A friend sent me a link to Rob Lowe's thoughts on his child leaving for college (see the link), and I can relate completely. He uses excellent description, adjectives, and metaphors to describe exactly what it feels like.
Rob Lowe on sending his son off to college
As a mother of a son, however, I have grieved this feeling of loss four times in the short twenty years we have spent together. It's a healthy process, and it has to happen, but that doesn't mean that it hurts any less.
In my mind's eye, the process resembles the splitting of a log. In order to start a fire, wood needs to be split. It's hard work, but without it, there's no fire. With each swing of the ax, the log splinters and begins to separate into two. So far, there have been four swings; the fifth occurred yesterday.
The first breach occurred when Erika was born, which is not to say that her birth was a bad thing. Through fits and turns, Nick and Erika have become best friends and co-conspirators, often preferring each other's company to that of Mom and Dad - which is how it should be.
Prior to Erika's birth, Nick and I had a evening ritual. After his bath, I would rock him to sleep each night. With his blond head tucked between my chin and chest, I loved to drink in the clean smell of Johnson's baby shampoo, his fine downy hair tickling my chin. Long after he was asleep, softly snoring, we would continue to rock. It may sound weird, but I loved everything about that moment - his sleeping weight, the peacefulness of it, the time that just we two spent together.
After Erika was born, Nick decided that he no longer wanted or needed to be rocked to sleep. Maybe he thought his new baby sister needed his spot or maybe he was displaced; I don't remember. Erika, however, wanted nothing to do with being rocked to sleep, and try as I might to get Nick to continue our nightly ritual, he refused. That was the first loss.
The second occurred at the end of Nick's 8th grade year into the beginning of his 9th grade year. Throughout the years, our little family of four did everything together. If ever there was a camping trip or vacation, the kids always came with Mike and me. I don't begrudge people who take vacations or do activities together as a couple; Mike and I just didn't do that. The kids were always included.
At the end of his 8th grade year, our church hired a new youth pastor. Suddenly, our family of four became three when it came to excursions. Nick and the youth pastor bonded well, and his social life involved whatever activity was going on at church or at Rocky's house. Likewise, Rocky became the authority on all topics. Mom and Dad's opinions were superfluous.
Again, this was a good problem to have - the kid wanted to go to church and be involved with youth group. However, the fact that he was moving away from us and choosing someone else as role model/social life was tough. Even though I knew that this is what teenagers do, I still grieved the loss of what we had had for so many years. Nick was breaking away, making his own choices, deciding his own social network, and we were no longer invited to be a part of it.
When Nick turned 16, more splintering occurred, and the chasm widened. Based on our experiences, teenagers should be locked away from the age of 16 through 18. This was, by far, the most turbulent time period we experienced with both of our kids. Since Nick was the oldest, everything was new and unfamiliar, so we had to shoot from the hip with regard parenting him.
During this time period, it was all about fun and friends, not family. Communication was limited and often negative. Conversations seemed to be battles more often than not, with respect and courtesy often being the biggest casualties.
One particular low moment was Parents Night for swimming. After the meet, everyone was supposed to go to the cafeteria to eat bars and socialize. I was so disgusted with his behavior, attitude, and lack of respect for us at the event that I told Mike that I just wanted to go home after the meet. Later, Nick came home, indignant, "Why didn't you show up? You embarrassed me!" Right back at ya, Buddy boy.
That memory, embarrassing and painful that it was, illustrated how miserable life was during that time, which is not to say it was all Nick's fault. Remember, since Nick was our first born, we were making it up as we went. In retrospect, we could have handled situations better or differently, and I'm sure he would say the same. You learn as you go.
As Mike continually tried to point out to me during this time period, Nick was just trying to figure out exactly who Nick was while trying to establish some independence. Even so, I missed my Nick. This snarly, disrespectful Nick 2.0 version was not very likable - at least to us. Thankfully, he was still respectful and kind to others; at the time, I just wished he would extend a little of that to his family as well.
The fourth division occurred within the past year. Per his decision, Nick chose to live at home for two years following his high school graduation so that he could obtain a two-year AA degree at the local community college. In making this choice, he was able to go to school, maintain two jobs, and pay off the first two years. While this proved to be a good decision on his part, there was a decided difference between first-year Nick and second-year Nick.
During this past year, we barely saw Nick at all. He came and went as he pleased, which was tacitly understood and agreed upon. He rarely ate meals with us. Basically, even though his address and bed were here, we co-existed like two ships passing in the night.
Yesterday, as Nick and I were running an errand together, he was asking me various questions to which I truthfully responded, "Nick, I don't know how to answer. I don't even know you anymore." He gave me a sideways, questioning look, so I had to clarify, "Even though you lived at home, I rarely saw you last year. I don't know what you like and don't like anymore. The only one who can answer those questions is you." The sad reality of those words hit me as they slid out of my mouth. The hard truth is that I have lost my little boy; a man, mysterious yet similar has taken his place.
And yet, truly, that is what we have been working toward for the last twenty years - helping him to become an independent adult who is able to think, decide, and yes, deal with the consequences, both good and bad.
So when he asked, "Are you excited for me, Mom? Do you think I am ready?" I could give him the answer that he not only wanted to hear but the truth as well.
As the ax fell again yesterday, I sent my son on his way to a new life in a new city. Once upon a time, I used to be able to hug all of him at one time. This time, I had to reach up to give this man who is my son a hug and a kiss goodbye. Most importantly, I looked him in the eyes, hands on both sides of face, and said, "You are ready for this. Mama loves you. And remember that Mama always has your back."
And that's really all that matters. Even if and when the circumstances, roles, and duties change over time, once a mama, always a mama.
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