Wistful, In PartsRead Time 9 min

When they were littles and the days were still long, they needed me and I them. I fixed the bad, and in my arms they knew they were safe. I played car track, airplane until my legs ached, and so many games of Sorry! the cards were bent from shuffling. Our days were spent as a pack, moving from room to room. When my husband asked what I did, my answer was, “I kept the kids alive.”

The idea of them being away from me was lunacy. Two short mornings a week of preschool was acceptable, all-day kindergarten was out of the question. College loomed like a black wall of nothing. We did it, though. We navigated the waters of elementary, middle and high school. They grew, went to school, played sports and became independent. It was the natural progression of parenting, and I accepted it. My brain knew the end goal of this mom gig was that they become self-sufficient adults. My heart wasn’t always sure that was going to be OK with me.

But college. College continued to be a black abyss, the end. I knew it had to happen and often I wanted it to; but it seemed so final.

After the first left and I stopped counting out five forks and plates for dinner each night, it became almost normal. What I hadn’t taken into consideration in the emotional lead up was that it’s far easier to communicate long distance now. When my best friend in sixth grade moved to Texas, we were allowed two 10-minute calls per year because long-distance phone rates were so expensive. Now, there is no long distance.

Wistful, Part 1

I saw a glimpse of the boy he once was today. It may have been the way the toes of his left foot were lifted as he concentrated or the way his fingers scratched his head. Most likely, it was a look that crossed his face reminding me of the innocent he used to be. It was a flash of his former self that moved so quickly that had I blinked at that moment, I’d have missed it. I kept watching him, reading glasses perched on the end of my nose, hoping he wouldn’t catch me staring as I searched for that little boy in his face. It was gone, though, and the man that he is becoming returned.

When the second left, we became Facetime pros. I learned another lesson: They were in the place they needed to be, and they were wildly happy. They were exactly where God wanted them, and he gave me the grace to be OK with it.

Wistful, Part 2

It was a flash. Less than a second. The girl she was eight years ago splashed across her face. Her now straight snaggle tooth was crooked again. Her hair had bangs. There was a whisper of awkward in her smile. And then it was gone. The instant vanished; but I still gazed at her, because for that brief moment, it was 2012 again. She’s a young woman now, but she is still my beautiful girl. The essence of who she is will never go away, but sometimes, despite the fact that she has exceeded all expectations and hopes, I miss that middle school girl. I’m glad she’s still in there.

Dropping off the third, I still cried and felt sad to not have him around. Saying goodbye doesn’t get a whole lot easier. But now, we are on the other side of college. Two have graduated and have moved back to town, where they have jobs and friends and apartments. And amazingly, parenting isn’t over. What I thought would be finished is still going on. They don’t need us in the same ways, but they still need us and, blessedly, still want us. I’ve learned that the process of raising children has a happy ending, not a black hole.

Wistful, Part 3

We played together today, my youngest lad and I. It was an impromptu game of kitchen soccer. There was laughter and lightness. This wouldn’t have happened two years ago. He had to leave for school in order to be present. I remember another time of play in the front yard while we waited for the others to come home. He asked me to cut out a heart, and he wrote his name and “Mom” on it. It hangs in a special place I see daily. I remember the boy he was, bright eyed and big hearted, and that boy is emerging from the teenage cocoon. I have to remember to hold on loosely.

The whole thing is one big hooray to the genius of our creator Father, who knows how much we need to love them to get through and how important it is to let go. He let us go after all, and I’m confident he rejoices when we return.