the final goodbye (and a trip to the emergency room)

 

 

Hello friends.

I’m still here… moving through these final, whirlwind days before our relocation and I thought I’d give you an update.

This past weekend was officially our last time together—as a family---before we leave this home. And wouldn’t you know it?  In addition to a lot of happy moments, it included an unexpected trip to the emergency room, which added one more memorable story to our life in this house.

Our plan was to have both boys come home from school for a quick visit; we wanted to celebrate Michael’s 19th birthday and take the video camera around the house so we could all share some of our favorite memories together. And for the most part, this is what happened.

Only ever since last October when we began this process of moving to another city I’ve been reminded that nothing ever goes as planned. And even when I think I’m in control, I’m not.

 

Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.

-  Lao Tzu

 

So on Friday night, I had my camera ready because I wanted to get a picture of each kid coming through the door one last time. (Sorry for the fuzzy photos, but I forgot to change my camera settings in all the hoopla)

 

Here’s Stella. She can hear each car drive up and she waits at the door.

 

Michael gets home first from the airport.

And here’s Patrick after his long drive. It was the first time we saw him since his injury and Stella couldn’t wait to get way from those scary crutches.

Did I tell you? In the middle of all this transition I got a phone call two Saturdays ago and heard Patrick’s voice on the other end. Don’t you hate calls that begin like this?

“Mom, I have some bad news. I think I need to go to the emergency room.”

It turns out that he had broken his left foot and as I write these words he’s still waiting for his final walking cast.

But my point about sharing Patrick’s injury is this recurring lesson for me about letting go. And it’s an experience that seems to be everywhere these days.

Having your college kid be alone in an emergency room hundreds of miles away, dealing with prescriptions, doctor appointments and insurance information is an instant reminder of the free-falling feeling that comes with backing away. Giving up control. Accepting vulnerability. Managing one’s worries.

Are you good at letting go of control and practicing the art of surrender?

For a woman (yours truly)  who likes to pretend that she can keep bad things from happening by focusing on all the details that could go wrong, it’s very uncomfortable. But I’m getting better.

In fact, do you want to know how much raising boys has warped changed my perspective?

I actually felt relieved that Patrick didn’t fall on his head and get another concussion. (and-hooray for no more wrestling with friends on concrete sidewalks. Another sigh of gratitude)

Which leads me back to this past weekend.

One minute it was life as usual.  It was Sunday and Jim was narrating over his video camera while we added our funny stories. There was the usual talking and texting and laundry and loading Patrick’s car and getting ready to take Michael to the airport.

When suddenly I hear a chair screech on the tile and I see Michael sinking straight down to the floor with a strange look on his face.

waiting in the emergency room with Michael

 

And this is what I’ll remember in the end.

What I’ll remember most about this special weekend is what happened during this scary period when everyone realized that something was wrong with Michael only we didn’t know what.

I’ll remember watching Patrick bend over his brother and ask him quietly for information about his recent weight training. I heard him ask about his pain and his symptoms which were in his lower back, and I saw them both calmly use their cell phones to search for forums and answers while I called the hospital and their Dad phoned the airlines.

Funny what you recall during crisis moments. Your mind grabs at random details like the fact that he had no tingling in his legs or fingers. And that he could still move all his limbs.

(Relief)

And I remember hearing Patrick say, “Mom, calm down.” when I began to over-react to Michael moving prematurely and I recall feeling impressed by their composure. And the sudden appearance of sensitivity and kindness in a stressful situation.

Later, after we moved Michael gingerly to the car so that we could take him to the hospital we all stood in the sunshine and hugged goodbye.

Patrick’s close buddy Matt, had arrived by now because he was riding back to school with Patrick. And he hugged me and told me he had wanted to come over to say ‘bye’ to our house too. Apparently, there was a funny story about Matt jumping into our fountain after a high school party that I’d never heard before. And we all laughed, including Michael.

 

Six hours later when we returned home from the hospital with medication and a likely diagnosis ( a muscular tear with some possible bleeding) we were all exhausted. Michael was drowsy from his IV with pain medication and went to bed immediately. And I felt stiff and tired when I sank into our bed.

I asked Jim if he’d seen the scribbled note that was left on the chalkboard by Matt.

^{the kitchen chalkboard}

And we both smiled in the darkness at Matt’s message.

Then I had to find out if Patrick had made it safely home.

 

And once I got this text message I remember sinking into my pillow and having one of those, Life-doesn’t-get-much-better-than-this-kind of reactions, the kind of pure gratitude that washes over you after a relieving visit to a hospital.

The kind of  gratitude that helps you appreciate all the little things we so often take for granted.

 

By the way….

We signed our papers yesterday and it’s official.

Our house is sold.

 

 

 

 

xo

Leslie

 

I’m linking this post up with these friends:

• http://www.impartinggrace.com/2014/02/grace-at-home-no-95.html
• http://www.commonground-do.com/2014/02/be-inspired-178.html?

 

Technorati Tags: letting go,saying goodbye,relocating homes,the art of surrender,family relationships

oh, so this is what it’s like… (letting go)

 

 

Two weeks after we dropped Michael off at college he called to tell us his right foot was fractured.

We had moved him to school knowing about his swollen foot but he had insisted it was fine, he had just landed on it wrong and that it was getting better. Although I had one of those nagging feelings about it. Call it mother’s intuition but I wasn’t surprised when he phoned me after a week and a half of rowing practices and told me he needed to find a doctor in his new city. I did really well until he was referred to an orthopedic surgeon because his X-rays indicated a possible problem with his healing.

I called Mr. Moss at work.

“What should we do? Do you think we should have Michael call us from the doctor’s office so we can talk to the orthopedic surgeon, ask him our questions? He could put us on speaker phone.”

“No Les, he’s eighteen years old. He’s already two weeks into his healing, he can ask the questions.”

“What?!”  This didn’t feel good to me…in fact I could feel my anxiety growing.”He doesn’t know what to ask!”

“It’s ok. We’ll talk to him before he goes in and make sure he knows what information to cover.”

When I put the phone down I was still grumbling inside and thinking about the four hundred and fifty miles that now separated us. But I decided to take a deep breath and step back. Alright I thought, I can do this new thing that feels so weird to me. I need to back off and believe this will be ok (like I really had a choice).

And you know what?

It did end up being fine. Another instance of twisting and shoving myself through that tiny, mouse-sized door of trust. Met with a bit of success.

But it’s funny how quickly that sensation of letting go can hit you. Sometimes it feels like a soft, reminiscent ache. Like my first trip to the grocery store after the college drop-off when it hit me that I wouldn’t need to buy all those specially requested cereals anymore. Of course not, I thought, Michael’s buying his own now. But it felt like something real and tangible was right there in front of me and suddenly… it’s not. A whisper of loss.

And sometimes letting go feels like a jolt to my universe, like a blustering threat to my very identity. Hey, I want to shout back to the universe, I am a Mom. This is what I do. I go to doctor appointments, I fill out the information on the clipboard, I thumb through magazines and chat with my kids about their day at school. I see the doctor and I leave satisfied when I get my questions answered.

Yes, it’s true that Michael is eighteen years old but when it comes to sickness and broken bones and medical specialists my heart still remembers him like this.

Until something as ordinary as a trip to a doctor’s office, one I can’t be part of, reminds me that life is always changing. And that this new territory referred to as the ‘empty nest’ offers incredible possibilities.

There is value in these achy growing pains, my wiser self tells me. A kind of soulful transformation that happens when you dare to slow down and re-discover yourself. When you listen to your feelings. When you find compassion for those old, stagnating fears underneath all that holding on and trying to control.

This is the promise of letting go, it’s the quiet invitation to become something new, something more, someone wiser.

lou boos and shoes

 

I recently heard this wonderful story from Tara Brach about facing our fears and it goes like this.

According to legend, the Buddha had a name for his shadow side—all those feelings of greed, fear, hate, sadness, suffering etc...and he called these, Mara. And throughout his life whenever his shadow side called Mara would appear in front of him  his response was open and inviting. He would say: “I see you Mara, please come…let’s have tea.”

Buddhists use this story as an example of how to approach our own humanness, those painful emotions that are part of living. Instead of being reactive and fighting these uncomfortable feelings, or disconnecting from them or suppressing them, the Buddha is open to them. He wants to fully know them and so he invites them over. His approach is one that welcomes awareness, “Oh, so this is what fear feels like…” he might say. And he would open his heart to learn more.

I just love this story. It’s such a compassionate way to treat our own fears and struggles.

 

How do you talk to yourself?

 

xoxo

Leslie

 

 

 

Technorati Tags: mothering,letting go of our kids,Tara Brach,facing our fears,women's issues,personal growth

endings and beginnings

 

Today was the last morning that Michael went to high school.

It’s finally over. Graduation is Saturday.

When the month of May 2013 passes, what I’ll remember most about these whirlwind days will be moments like this one. Times when I’m observing a tender ending or a “final, last time.”

Like Senior Ball. His final race. The end of the year Crew Banquet. Those are some of the bigger “last times” but this morning was a small and meaningful to me.

Each school day I am the first one out of bed. My routine is simple; I make a pot of coffee in front of this window and turn on Morning Joe so I can listen to the news while I make breakfast for Michael. I  refer to this quiet time as my “morning bliss.” While breakfast is cooking, I’m pulling food out of the fridge to make Michael’s lunch. During his rowing season I made two  large, healthy lunches because his workouts were so intense. This is how my mornings always began.

I was taking this photo early in the morning when Mr. Moss walked by.

“Well this is it, “ I announced to him. “All these years while the kids were in school, I had my  routine…. and now it’s coming to an end. It’s been my little version of morning bliss.”

“Morning bliss?” He laughed, “That’s not exactly how I remember it.” And I know in that second he’s referring to those chaotic parts of the morning; the ones that include my loud yells down the hallway.

“Michaeeeeeel… are you up yet?!”

Well duh. Of course it includes the craziness. The lost car keys. The school form that suddenly needs to be signed at the last minute. Michael walking out the door barefoot (“my shoes are in the car”) while I shove his lunch into his hands and ask him if he has enough gas. And me, sticking my head out the front door while I’m holding Stella’s collar, shouting “Don’t speed!”

Who ever said ‘bliss’ meant perfect?

The truth is, mothering is composed of millions of little moments that are woven together with tender acts of love and worry. We have daily routines that are honed by years of cozy repetition so in the end, each person—mom and child— really knows each other. Knows how to plough through stressful mornings and cranky moods and irascible questions. Like these.

“Ok, do you have everything?” I ask before he leaves.

“Mom, do you know you say that every morning?”

And in the next second he’s bending down so I can kiss his forehead before he bolts out the door

These are the sort of ordinary moments that make me pause these days. I want to relish it all. I want to take a mental snapshot in my mind of us at the kitchen island talking. Just being together on one of our mornings.

Because I’m fully aware that he’ll be leaving soon.

Is it my hormones? No. The truth is, I’ve always been this way. A feeler. A hopeless sentimental type. A griever of sorts.

The other night while we watched the Office finale from our traditional places on our lumpy, brown sectional, I listened to Michael and his Dad calculate how our family began watching The Office when he was only in sixth grade.

As the last show began, Michael jokingly said, “ Hey Mom, what are the odds of the final Office show happening during my last week of high school? Wow.. looks like my childhood is officially over.”

And I just smiled back… with a lump in my throat.

The final race

 

 

xoxo

Leslie

 

 

(P.S. a note to all my dear blogger friends: yes, I’ve been away. I haven’t figured out a way to blog during these crazy days and I’ve missed you all. But I’ll be back to regular posting shortly. And most importantly, I look forward to catching up on your lives, reading and commenting on your posts... I hope you understand. )

 

 

 

Technorati Tags: mothering,letting go,endings and beginnings,college separation

preparing to let go

 

Sometimes I find myself waking up in the middle of the night and thinking, “Oh, Michael is in the next room, how nice.” And I’ll close my eyes and snuggle inside the warm, comforting realization that my youngest is still home.

But there are other times I’ll wake up in a drowsy, clouded state and my first thought isn’t a thought at all, it’s a flutter of panic as I think, “Oh, my God, Michael is graduating soon.”

And in the next second, I’m mentally counting the months, and realizing how little time we have left before he goes. And my mind will go crazy thinking about the clothes on his floor and how messy he is, and why didn’t I do a better job teaching him tidiness? And I’ll be flooded with cringing images of his college room being in shambles.

 

But mostly, I’ll feel a dull heaviness in my chest that I now recognize as that certain sadness that comes with letting go of one’s children.

How do you learn to live with a missing part? You just do.

I was describing these middle-of-the night feelings to Mr. Moss on one of our evening walks. And he was soothing me with the teachings of mindfulness. “It’s OK Les,” he said. “Just observe your feelings and stop judging. The idea is to simply watch your mind and  allow your feelings to come and go,

and Name Them. Whatever the feelings are.”

He gave me an example.

“Right now I’m aware that I’m feeling sad about Michael leaving…and this also makes me  a little anxious and worried, wondering if he’s ready…”

He tells me that in order to avoid being led by your emotions and constantly reacting, mindfulness teaches us to develop a degree of healthy separation. And this comes from having a curious, flowing observation of oneself.

It happens when we slow down and listen in the quietness

to our heart.

 Patrick and Michael;  the preschool days

As I write these words, I’m aware that my pangs of sorrow may be different from yours.

Because letting go is a unique, breathtaking experience for each mother. It has to do with who the child is, and the relationships involved, and the woman herself, and how she deals with Loss.

I’ve also discovered that launching a child out of the home often elicits well meaning comments that happen when someone tries to reassure away our sadness. To plug up the hole with words. And although it’s meant with kindness, I want to assure them I’ve been through this before and that  …

I already know I’ll be absolutely fine.

I already know I’ll have a bucket list of projects in the works, because that’s who I am.

I already know I’m lucky in love and grateful to be entering into a new era with Mr. Moss.

And I realize that the soulful bonds I feel with my kids will never prevent me from being the first one to push them out the door, towards those exciting possibilities that await them.

But I’ve also learned that it’s Ok to feel the hollowness, and it’s fine to be mindful of the empty spot where once there was someone and now there’s not. And this I think, is the resplendent courage of a mother’s love. We love our children with every fiber in our bodies and when it’s time

we simply let go. We adapt. We do what’s best for the love of our children.

And if you’re wise, you prepare for the inevitable strangeness of one day waking up and realizing that your college aged child lives miles and miles away from you.

And believe me,

You’re going to be just fine.

 

.

 

Blessings to you,

xo

Leslie

 

I’m linking up here:

http://www.cedarhill-ranch.com/2013/01/cowgirl-up-51-with-i-still-hate-pickles.html?

 

Technorati Tags: letting go of our kids,mothering,life,mindfulness,loss