Nobody prepared me for
this. How could they? So much about being a mother is impossible to understand
until it happens.
There’s a pulsating hole in my being that keeps morphing into tears.
There’s a pulsating hole in my being that keeps morphing into tears.
There’s no right way
to do it: mothering.
Despite all the books and discussions and studies and predecessors and worry, we all just make it up as we go along.
I know that.
Despite all the books and discussions and studies and predecessors and worry, we all just make it up as we go along.
I know that.
But I
still wasn’t prepared for this.
My manchild, the beautiful
creature whose existence became connected with mine eighteen years ago and changed
everything forever, has left home to go to university. His room is empty. And a
previously unknown kind of heartache occupies my soul. It’s unfamiliar and
frightening, because it’s so vast. It feels interminable.
My son is a man in the
world and I am an absent part of his history. His story. I’m an absence that
stretches to the end of his life.
And mine.
And mine.
But somehow, alongside this absence dwells a
new joy.
A fresh delight washes
through me each time I hear his voice. A never-before-experienced contentment
settles into that throbbing emptiness when we are together and I can feel how happy
he is in his freedom and independence.
It’s not pride.
It’s not relief.
It’s just warmth.
A whole new kind of mother love.
My son is a man in the
world and I am forever present in his history. His story. My mothering is a
presence that stretches to the end of my life.
And his.
And his.
Lovely writing Wendy. Our children are such a precious gift, and every milestone reached fills us with both sadness and happiness at the same time. Feeling your heartache (and pride!). Hugs xx
ReplyDeleteThnx... but you have a while to go yet, so forget you read this. Relax and enjoy the ride.
DeleteI love the diversity of your expression. This one feels like you sat down to write it and but then somehow it wrote itself. It's really lovely. And touching. And warm. And present. I do enjoy your comedy, but then apples and pears, you can't compare. That's my two cents. xxx
ReplyDeletetoo kind... lots of my pieces write themselves...I'd been trying to ignore this one but it busted through...xxx
DeleteHugs Wendy. I know how it feels and that effing ache never goes away. Yet, as you said, we must take joy from their ability to adjust, enjoy and manage. And feel proud we raised good kids. :) Happy Mother's Day. Now's the time to celebrate yourself. And look forward to the holidays. Mmwah!
ReplyDeleteMy kids are adopted, so Mothers day always makes me sad... somewhere two other mothers are wondering about the baby they never knew...
DeleteIt must be a very bittersweet time for you at the moment Wendy. On the one hand, missing him like mad, and on the other being proud of him and his freedom to be a man in the world :-)
ReplyDeleteit's weird, Jude, but he IS a lovely young man... despite me...
Deletethis is such a beautiful and true piece of writing - having experienced it twice it resonated so strongly with me. Humour is great, but sometimes we have to write the truth of the moment and this is so true and strong. I will hold on to your words. And send you love and strength and hugs (to be taken with a nice glass of pinot gris!)
ReplyDelete...accepted with much gratitude...
DeleteI am glad that you heard truth, because i trust your hearing
Very true! I found myself wanting to be able to say something to my son, see my son, hug my son a hundred times a day when he first left home. But as I've got to see him grow and find his way, start a family, and become a responsible 27 year old man, I've found we have a new found mutual respect and we both cherish that bond we have always shared more than ever.
ReplyDeleteBarbara, blogging at Life & Faith in Caneyhead
Hi Barbara, thanks for your kind words. I can only hope my relationship with my son heads down the same path. It's been a rocky one sometimes.
DeleteBeautifully written Wendy. Letting your kids go is one of the hardest things to do but it's why we raise them - to hold them back would prevent them from developing to their full potential. And having let all 3 of mine go they have flown. Far and wide but home is always where we are and they come back, often. Usually with a huge bag of washing while at uni!
ReplyDeleteLOL... yes, the dirty linen is highly likely to find its way home to me... it's a truism, though, isn't it... we bring them up to be independent and then break our hearts when they are
DeleteLovely piece Wendy and one we can all relate to. Its funny, my girls have each returned home for 6-8 months at various times and I have felt their absence again when they left. And I wondered - does this process of loss end? But I have found it does. Our eldest was living back in our house after returning from a year OS recently, and it was so great but by six weeks I was like, Off you go, Too big to be living with Mummy, catch you for coffee next week sometime. There is a season for every purpose............
ReplyDeleteHi Aly... good to know from one who's more experienced than I that there is an end. Mind you, I could be 80 by then!
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