The Blue Skies of Skype and the Mountain Ranges of Utah

Today we had our first Skype conversation with our son, some 14 days of saying goodbye at his new school.  Seeing that beautiful face, nice new haircut, and familiar smile was great.  It was also hard as all I wanted to do was reach through the screen and kiss that face.

He's enjoying school, in geometry (glad he doesn't need my help!),  learning piano, and having just completed a report on Beuwolf.  He has been playing on the flag-football team and even smiled when I asked if he liked his weekly collages I have been creating by cutting up is anime magazines.

Fries are being made and connections are being tested.  As with any new group dynamic.  He can see the mountains with their fresh snow and looks forward to winter activities such as snowboarding.

This all sounds great, and it is.  However, I wish to be part of it, rather than hear about it.  I will take what I get and I wonder if he has the same conviction of our family being so far away.  I can only hope so.


What was telling, was that he started doing some similar behaviors at his new school as previous schools.  What is very important and impressive, is that they are aware of this quickly and have put into place a plan right away.  This leaves me hopeful that the school is a right fit.

At least until I disagree with something -- which will happen.  I have been fortunate to meet other parents of kids at this school in Los Angeles and they have been a great resource.  The saying, "it takes a village" is quite trite - however very true. 

The saying, "it takes a village to raise a child" is frequently attributed to being an African proverb, but there are many African societies with proverbs which translate to 'It takes a village...':

• In Lunyoro (Banyoro) there is a proverb that says 'Omwana takulila nju emoi,' whose literal translation is 'A child does not grow up only in a single home.' 
• In the Nigerian (Igbo) culture and proverb "Ora na azu nwa" which means it takes the community/village to raise a child. The Igbo's also name their children "Nwa ora" which means child of the community.
• In Kihaya (Bahaya) there is a saying, 'Omwana taba womoi,' which translates as 'A child belongs not to one parent or home.' 
• In Kijita (Wajita) there is a proverb which says 'Omwana ni wa bhone,' meaning regardless of a child's biological parent(s) its upbringing belongs to the community. 
• In Swahili, the proverb 'Asiyefunzwa na mamae hufunzwa na ulimwengu' approximates to the same.

From my pied-à-terre, the proverb has a deep meaning as well. 

My son's room with this view.

Altered States: California & Utah

It has been 8 days since we enrolled our son in a new school out of state.   When you lose a parent as an adult you mourn your past.  You mourn your own childhood, your foundational memories, and from when you came.  When you are separated from your child earlier than planned, you mourn your future.  By no means is my son's attendance at a school in another state equal to the loss of a child, however, an unplanned separation has similar elements.

My son is a very social child, making friends wherever he goes and easily adapting to new environments.  It is the sustaining these environments that are a challenge.  I hear that all is going well, friends are being made, football is being played, and there has even been a visit to the nurse.  All very normal behaviors.  That is great!

However, seeing that face every day and watching that boy asleep is a large adjustment.  Hearing about the mundane, the everyday, the small and minute facial changes are now lost to me.  Watching him morph from a child to a young man won't happen on my watch.  It will be done from afar and I miss the immediacy of our relationship.

Saying good-bye to him was gut wrenching.  I tried my best to keep a "stiff upper lip" but that was futile.  Hugging him and not wanting to let go was a bit overwhelming to him.  I just couldn't stop holding him.  He pulled away and told said to me, "it is o.k., it is just like college."

Coming back and being in my home the last eight days, I feel lost, unmoored, as if I have lost a limb.  I miss his voice, his smell, his looming body.  I miss watching him sleep, dance, his ideas and thoughts.  I miss the metamorphosis into a young man and I miss the successes at school and with friends.  I just miss a lot.

Just like old times

I have been quiet.  It certainly has not been because of lack of things to say, but those things are too heavy on my heart to share.

My boy has found solace and comfort in the arms of his father and my time with him is few and far between.  This emotional and physical gap has proved to be more than a little difficult.  When we are together is feels like a strained relationship on its last days, with little to say and a lot of silence.

I know that this is not permanent - please don't tell me that.  I know that things will change - please don't tell me that.  I know that he feels safe to reject me - please don't tell me that.

However, the stages of loss and independence with your only child are natural and painful at the same time.  As I have shared, I have had my fill of loss, but to feel loss while the person is still in your life is another thing entirely.

Hormones, emotions, and a changing psychic landscape are all aspects of this time for us.  To quote Nietzsche (and for those younger, Kayne West) "what does not kill me, makes me stronger" is my mantra.  However, the implied strength is hard to see.

While I am missing and longing for the child who is missing 24/7, last night a gift arrived.  He was with me, we fell asleep holding hands, and the broken heart I have healed every so slightly.

 Bill Viola, Four Hands (2001)