As the parents of grown sons, our role has evolved over time.
Initially, we lead the way. Like a lighthouse on a rocky
shore, we provided foundation, faith, and guidance. We illuminated the darkness
so our sons could see possibilities and pathways, but they did so by following
us, stepping in footsteps we left for them to follow.
Then came the day we gave each of our sons a flashlight and
stepped back, allowing them to explore on their own. To venture out in baby
steps. We no longer walked in front, but alongside them, still protective even
as they explored further and further.
Baby steps turned into giant steps, and giant steps became
leaps, and things began to shift just a little bit. So, we adjusted, parented a
little differently, and readjusted when things shifted again.
And then a U-Haul truck changed everything.
Yes, I blame everything on a darn U-Haul truck, the one I
followed yesterday all the way from our house to Timothy’s new apartment. The
darn U-Haul truck filled with all of Timothy’s earthly possessions which used
to fill our home. The darn U-Haul which left us empty closets and dust bunnies and dangling
hangers.
As I followed the U-Haul truck, despite my maudlin, contemplative
state of mind, I could still see and feel gratitude for this new era of
parenthood which was, yes, sad to be sure, but also all kinds of wonderful. And
we had been preparing for this day!
Last month, I watched as Joe, like he did with all our sons,
give Timothy his personal papers which, up to that point, had been stored in
our safe: his birth certificate, passport, insurance papers, prescriptions, tax
documents. Joe explained everything and Timothy solemnly stored them in his own
fire-proof safe (a graduation gift).
Last week, I made a “bachelor cookbook” filled with easy-to-prepare
recipes and packed two bins filled with pantry items: olive oil, spices, an
assortment of pasta, bags of rice, and various vinegars. I washed linens and towels
and carefully folded everything. I made sure to include an ironing board and
gave Timothy a refresher course entitled “How to Iron a Dress Shirt.”
All summer, we have been stockpiling apartment items: a new
couch, framed posters, cleaning supplies, vacuum cleaner, full-size mattress,
bed frame, and—most exciting of all for Timothy—a brand-new large-screen
television.
So, we knew this day was coming. We did.
But still.
Still.
Later that night, after we returned to an empty home during a dark and ferocious thunderstorm, Joe and I felt the biggest shift of all because we are now manning the lighthouse alone. All our sons are grown and gone. They are forging pathways and exploring hidden lands and seeing and doing things we have never done. Now it is their turn to shine.
And now we watch, even as we try and adjust to this new
stage of parenthood, one which has left us feeling a little adrift. Maybe even
a little lost.
It is hard, scary, sad. Let me just say that.
But it is also beautiful, inspiring, exciting. I can say
that, too.
A heart can hold many conflicting emotions.
It is as it should be, and I am grateful.
But I know that, no matter what, we will always be that lighthouse illuminated on the rocky shore welcoming them home, and maybe, like that U-Haul truck, they carry with them some of what we have given them through the years.
