In some ways he is already gone. Even the hours when he is
here, he is somewhere else – ear buds in listening to music I don’t understand,
texting with people I do not know, reading books I’ve never heard of, and
surfing websites certainly not meant for parents. I’m proud of the fact that he
is so independent and obviously ready to be out our door. Yet, my heart breaks
at the thought of him being gone.
I watched him walk across that stage a few days ago, accept his diploma, grin for the cameras, toss his hat in the air. He celebrated for two days straight - eating every manner of junk food, laughing, throwing frisbees, solidifying memories to take with him when he goes. This is the last he will see of some of these people, but he won't feel that truth until decades from now.
It seems like only moments ago, he couldn’t remember to hand
in homework and lost his shoes and jacket on a regular basis. Learning to drive
stressed us both and I wondered if he’d ever be able to find his way without me
or his father in the seat beside him. And now he comes and goes, driving to
towns 45 minutes away, negotiating the city, and finding a friend’s house on a
lonely, dark back road. Undoubtedly he makes a few wrong turns, but he figures
it out eventually.
He will negotiate the world in much the same way.
I can’t imagine a day when he will not barrel down the
stairs noisily, tease the dog, leave the open milk container on the counter and
his socks on the porch. I miss him already and no longer complain when I find
Dungeons & Dragons dice or Magic cards all over my house. They are evidence
that he is still here.
I feel like this leaving is just one more example of the
pain of parenting no one warns you about. The other stuff – sleeping through
the night, potty training, starting kindergarten – there are entire books
warning you about these trials, but no one tells you that one day this person
who has taken up residence in your heart 24/7/365 for eighteen years is going
to leave. And it will hurt like nothing you can imagine. There is no metaphor
for this pain that is already casting its shadow on my heart even though I
still have three months – three months! – before he goes.
For his part, he seems a little guilty. He is kinder and
more grateful. Maybe he feels bad that he is so excited to get out of here and
leave us. I watch him with his younger siblings. He listens to them more than
he ever has – as if memorizing them. He will miss so much of their growing up
and they have relished their front row seats to his adventures. This will be
hard on them, too.
I don’t know when he discovered the horizon.
