See You Soon

There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots, the other, wings.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I started to subtract blocks of time. To quantify my reality so I could digest it. To justify why I personally, as a mom of divorce and shared custody, am being further robbed of time. First, 50 percent of his childhood missed, now reduced down to a few days every few months when he’s home from college. But I quickly changed thought trains, reminding myself that I’d put that monster, Resentment, to bed long ago when I stopped being angry about how my life had turned out. Stopped hating myself for somehow missing the exit to Happy Family Land, on the corner of Healthy Marriage Avenue.

After my divorce, I had to quit torturing myself because my life didn’t turn out like the picture I had painted and start making a mosaic out of the broken but beautiful pieces. I wasn’t able to start creating a new masterpiece until I quit drinking. I had all the pieces around me: my new husband, my sons, and then a daughter. A new home and a job that I loved. But I couldn’t begin creating or appreciating anything until I started living again. Because once I realized life is hard, sometimes even brutal, I relied heavily on numbing to get through. It wasn’t until my mind was at peace with who I am and what my life is that I could appreciate it and the people around me. With a clear head and heart, I could finally see the beauty that is often dressed up as struggle and hardship.

I am positioned to see it now. The blessings that have come with doing hard things. And I’m doing more than just getting by. More than surviving.

The kids are more than okay, and probably stronger and more resourceful than they would have been otherwise. They play sports and they get good grades and have great people in their lives. It hasn’t been easy, but we learn and love and laugh as we go. At some point I began accepting that life goes on whether your family is together or apart, and milestones still approach, whether you’re ready to celebrate them or busy trying to hide.

Children grow up, plodding through school days filled with drama and boredom, anger and confusion, awe and grace. They learn to drive and are around less often, testing new wings and curfews, as well as your patience. Then one day, you realize you now have to look up to have a conversation, and you remember when it was reversed and those trusting eyes looked up to you for wisdom and comfort. Where is the little boy who needed your protection and care?

Now, you’re riding in a car he’s driving on the way to leave him at a college with a bunch of strangers. You have always known on a rational level that this is the way its supposed to work, and then one day, if you’re fortunate, you’re living it. I know not everyone makes it to this point, parent or child, and I feel humbled and grateful to accept this leg of the journey.

It’s a sweet sorrow, knowing on one hand that you’re sending your child out into the world on his own adventure. You feel so proud and full of awe at this intelligent being you created. On the other hand, you feel the overwhelming ache of grief. Soaring and crashing. An abundance of love chased by the sadness of 18 years of togetherness reaching its conclusion. There’s a phrase about parenting that my friend and I have been passing back and forth at pivotal moments since our boys were in the womb. “This parenting business…it’s not for the weak of heart.”

I feel my heart is breaking, as I’ve felt many times before. But it mends and gets stronger in the broken places. Tears will come and go. Memories surface and subside. But the love stays; never receding, never far away.

I’ll see you soon, son.