I read somewhere, or someone told me, that parents go through a grieving process when their kids grow up. Specifically the teen years. And I thought, nope. Not me. First of all, A and I are so close, that we'll just get closer - or at least, I thought, that his teenage years would not look like the stereotypical boys'. Plus, I will be too proud of his stepping out in the world to grieve. I am above all this pyscho-babble. Right?
Wrong.
It is unbearably painful to watch A grow. Not bad pain, necessarilly. Not always, anyway. Sometimes I am in honest-to-god fear that I will explode as I swell with pride at my fine young man. (Fine against all odds, really, given where this child comes from.) Joy can hurt. Pride and love and empathy can hurt. A sweet, lovely hurt, but a deep hurt, nonetheless.
I am proud that he doesn't need me like he used to. It's what I have always wanted for him. But it hurts. His growing independence has left a huge unfillable gap in my entire identity. I'm still figuring out who I am when I'm not actively being his mom.
Probably for the best then that he's gone to live with his father for a while. Time to cut the proverbial apron strings... Ug. Why? Why does one have to cut the strings???
I was looking forward tonight to having A home and making him some hot chocolate the way I used to make it for my sisters. And I found churros at the store and eventhough the last thing that child needs is sugar, I was looking forward to the treat.
"Uh... do I have to come?" Squeek - I can't talk or breathe... I feel like I haven't seen him in months. No, of course you don't have to come. (I will NOT be that mom.) "Ok. Thanks. Love you mom." And I'm so devastated I can't say I love you back. I send him a text message... "Hung up before I could say I love you back!"
My over-the-top reaction and the immediate I-need-to-fix-it text message are an in-your-face clue that there is entirely too much hinging on this relationship... and maybe, just maybe, it's time to start the letting go phase of this stupid grieving process.
I make hot chocolate anyway. And I bite into the churros... which turn out to be stale. And I cry.
Just as I start to fall further and further into my grief sprial, my phone beeps. Text message from A: "Love u."
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My eyes fill up when I read this. You do such a fabulous job of letting him be who he is and do what he needs to do. He'll be back.
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