By Monday at 3:00 p.m., my son, Mark, had passed his driver’s road test. By 4:00 p.m., he had his license. And at 4:30, he had the keys to his first car.
It was a big day for my first child, who was born three weeks early, who could have been lost when the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck during delivery, and who started life weighing less than six pounds. Now, at 5’11”, he has definitely caught up.
I am sentimental. I take note of events while they are happening and realize how important it is to enjoy the moment, as each momentous occasion is unique and will never be repeated. Monday was no exception, and I’m glad I was there to witness Mark’s next step in maturity.
Of course, being sentimental, I started thinking about other occasions in his life. His first words led to sentences, which led to him verbalizing everything that came to his mind. At times his talent for words has been a challenge, when I wanted him to be quiet and he would not cooperate. But I appreciate his ability to express himself and I’m glad he talks to me.
His first steps led to walking, which allowed him to walk away from me, to run, to be independent. I had a hard time keeping up with him, but he was just a warm-up for when his brother, Tommy, was born and I had two boys to chase around.
As a first-time mother I was naïve about this parenting business and I thought I could, if I was diligent, do everything right. I was careful about what he ate, about where he played, about keeping everything clean. I remember when Mark was teething and my sister-in-law, Kathy, put her finger in his mouth to help soothe his sore gums. I asked her if she had washed her hands first. Who knew what germs she might be harboring! Yes, I was a fanatic.
I wrote a two-page instruction manual for my parents the first time they watched my precious baby while I was gone, as if they hadn’t raised three children themselves and weren’t capable of figuring out what to do. They humored me and read my list, then did their own thing after I left. Mark survived, and I never knew the difference.
His first birthday. The first time he got on the school bus to go to Kindergarten. His first sleepover at a friend’s house. At age eleven, his first week away from home at Boy Scout camp, and the bittersweet memory of my visit there that led to his sudden homesickness, and then his equally sudden decision to let go of me to stay with his troop. I saw him grow up a little right in front of my eyes, and it was gratifying and saddening at the same time.
I realize now that there is no such thing as perfect parenting. We do what we can with what skills and knowledge we have to work with, we hope for the best, we love our children, and we learn how to let go of them.
For me, that has been the hardest part, every step of the way, the letting go. I never realized how much I could love someone until I had children, and the thought of them leaving is excruciating and inevitable. If I do a good job, not a perfect job, but a good one, when they leave they will have the skills to live satisfying lives, and they will come back occasionally so I can love them in person rather than from afar. This is what I hope for.
As Mark drives off to new adventures, continuing the process of making his life his own, Tommy is right behind him, ready to grow up too fast.
I believe there is a little bit of heartbreak every time a child leaves home (unless the child is thirty) and that life is full of bittersweet moments like that. It’s a good thing we were made with hearts that can be healed by loving, because that’s the only thing that has allowed me to open my hand and let go.
And let go I will, when it is time. But not just yet. For right now, I will enjoy the time I have with my wonderful sons, and I will remember all the love that has gone into this family over the years.
Yes, someday the nest will be empty. But I know, without a doubt, that my heart will be full.
Published in The Daily Telegram, Adrian, Michigan, July 2007.
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