When our oldest son told us he was leaving
for Florida the day after his 18th birthday, I was stunned. The few
days I had to prepare myself were not at all enough. I soon found myself standing at the airport,
watching my baby walk through the security gate alone, and disappear around the
corner. My husband held my hand tight as
silent tears streamed down his face, and I sobbed and prayed all the way back
to the car. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t
think. I just couldn’t fix the ache in my heart that he left me. There was no
one to talk to about it, there was no one to comfort me. I felt so numb that my firstborn was just…gone.
He was gone. He left me, he left his dad, he left us all. He hadn’t even packed
up his entire room. He left almost everything behind. I think I went through the 12 stages of grief
in the following days.
Fast forward to the present day- two kids
married and out on their own. The one who left me has two children of his own.
Two kids still at home driving me nuts. Plans for all their bedrooms. I have a
notebook. With big plans. One day they will all be mine, and I will have a
pretty house with a guest room of my dreams, an office that is functional as
just an office, and enough book shelves to house all the books I have stored in
every odd place I can find. And maybe
even a room dedicated to baseball, if my husband wants a man cave, I can’t
argue that. As I make plans for this
space I keep going back to the one question from when my son broke his mothers
heart and flew off to a warmer place: Why on earth didn’t anyone ever warn me
about this part of my life?
Why?
I left home right after graduation, and my
mother never said a word. She and dad paid for our wedding, shipped our stuff
little by little, and called every day. They came to visit us once on the other
side of the country, and they supported us unconditionally. When my brother got married and had a child,
they did the same for him, and I cannot for the life of me remember seeing or
hearing my mother hurt or upset about any of it. But she had to be! Right?! Aren’t
we moms all wired the same way? Didn’t God instill in us the mother hen
syndrome, the right to protect, teach and love unconditionally? I am so
flabbergasted about the deafening silence I faced my peers, and mostly my older
mentors, provided for me when I was going through all of this. Total deafening silence.
For
a while I thought I was over reacting, like I was mentally unstable and it was
a “me” problem, not a normal momma problem. I was bursting into tears when I saw
his jacket. I was bursting into tears when I saw his truck in the driveway. I
was freaking out into a sobbing mess when I realized I didn’t need 6 steaks, I
only needed 5, because my son was in Florida somewhere without me or his dad. I
actually called out his name one morning to get him out of bed before I left
for an appointment. Seriously. I almost had myself convinced to get medication
for my inability to control my emotion and be normal. Really.
Then, like a giant epiphany that I had
been ignoring for a long time, I was sitting in my living room reading some of
the blogs I regularly visit, and it struck me- no one ever warned me about any
of this mess! Not any of it! The only
thing I ever was warned about had to do with infancy, and we are long past
those days. In fact, I would give my left arm and a days wages to go back there
some days. I couldn’t believe there was not one person who ever said anything
about anything that I needed to know.
I tried to rationalize all of it away.
I come from a pretty normal family, if
there is such a thing. I had amazing grandparents who for the most part
grandparented me. I had an upbringing with hundreds of people around me all
influencing me in my thoughts, actions, and beliefs. I belonged to a decent
size church, was friends with the pastors’ kids and spent time with my youth
group. I watched all those kids before me grow up, graduate high school, go on
to college or marriage or whatever they went on to. I never once saw one of
their parents grieving their loss, their decisions, and their lives. Maybe I
missed the signs, or maybe I was warned but just chose not to listen. I just do
not recall anyone ever reacting like this in this situation, come to think of it;
I do not recall seeing anyone ever react emotionally to any situation of change
with their children, parents, family members. Not ever.
So then I ask the questions- is this
hidden reaction related to the bubble we all build around ourselves so that no
one else on the planet knows about our hurts, our fears or our real life
issues? Is this ultimate not sharing of “stuff” part of the big picture of
making sure everything looks like it’s all rosy and fun? Are we so worried
about what other people think that we are willing to risk not sharing our own
stories when we are hurting, when we are devastated by loss or when we are
getting a tough life education of our own? When Christ was hurting at the
temple, he made sure everyone knew he was angry, and why. If I am to be Christ
like, should I stay quiet about things I am experiencing, all the while knowing
that others behind me will experience the same craziness, and think they are
losing their mind as I thought?
I think I will say no, and keep writing.
If you think this situation was heart
wrenching, and dear reader it was, then wait until I tell you about all the
other things no one ever thought to warn us about as young women.
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