The High School Years Begin

Today my son would be entering high school with his friends from many years.  However, he will make this transition in a few weeks in his school out of state.  It is at these rituals where I become a bit of a weepy mess.

Our normal is not one that feels familiar or right.  I want to be able to watch parents and children together, but find that I have zero tolerance for the sight of them and god forbid the sounds of a crying toddler.

I want to be able to watch the back to school commercials that run incessantly at this time, but the thought of not buying supplies, clothes, a backpack and getting it all ready for the first day makes me want to pull the TV out of the wall.

I want to drive the streets behind the yellow school buses and look in the windows during a red light and give a slight smile to the kids on their way to a new grade, a new adventure, but I am happy to be on a train with my dark sunglasses on and reading a newspaper oblivious to the school buses that take up the streets below.

During this time, I will have to come to terms that our firsts are going to be different. While I intellectually know this to be the case, emotionally, the loss is pretty close to the surface. I am certainly grateful for all the excellent work, grades, and growth that has taken place.

But I really just want to pick out his first day of school clothes, put him on a bus, and then hear how his first day of high school is over dinner.  We would then go to sleep and doing it again for 179 other days.  Just like I imagined.

I get so emotional, every time I think of you  . . .

Am I Mother Enough - Hell Yes!

Mother's Day 2012 also coincided with my boy's 14th birthday. The last time the two events landed on the same day was when he turned 3 years old and our first Mother's Day together.

Our day started by waking up together and finding a cinnamon bun breakfast to keep up with the ritual bun birthday treat. I looked at him and gushed over and over again how happy I was and how much I valued our time together. We shopped for birthday gifts at the mall and all the guys in the skate shop told him that he had a really cool mom. Calls to cousins, friends, and family rounded out the day. But the building tsunami was on approach.

As it made landfall we were partially prepared for what was to come. While I will skip the details, the result was moderate damage and a lot of tears and a huge emotional mess to clean up. We were able to board up our broken hearts and try to move forward one moment at at time. We exhaled and got ourselves together. Oh, by the way, Happy Mother's Day and Birthday.

What came from the mess was open communication and shared feelings that have been bottled up for the few years. Crossing the San Andreas Faultline was as deep and dangerous as imagined. However, our emergency kit was not too wells stocked.

As I reflect on on the day and its highs and lows, there is one thing that comes to mind. That the boy is mine and we need each other very much.

I did not birth him. I did not breast feed him. I did not watch him take his first steps or say his first words. But we had our own firsts that I can put in the win column. Mother's Day gave us a few more wins and zero losses.

It is our own high-wire where we are harnessed by safety belts and struggle to find our strength to make it through the day.

I let the past few weeks sit with me, to simmer and to gain some distance.  The distance that is needed to allow him to grow on his own.  To be safe and be confused.  I finally hit a wall that many other parents have already crossed and for some that they never transcend.  I am still struggling with the chasam between us (physically and emotionally) but perhaps my number was finally called.

I meditate each day that I find strength to sustain the quiet and that my intentions pour from me into his consciousness. It is in this silence that I hope he finds his way home . . .

Hold On For One More Day

Writing this blog about stress is really stressing me out.  I wanted to find a way to share how relaxed and easy my visit was with the man-child, but one look in his eyes and I could see a life of worry.  Worry about doing the right thing, worry about being flexible, worry about worry.  It was so evident.

His worry made me worry which made the grandfather worry, which resulted in all of us worrying.  The big eyes, filled with concern, and somewhat frozen face is also a reminder of my mom's last days.  So there was worry enough for both the living and the dead.

While the trip was good, it brought up a lot of issues of how to find ease when anxiety is the fourth member of the family.  We talked, we exercised, we ate, we sat in silence, and still the tension was the elephant in the room.  We worried about personal space, personal values, social justice, global warming, environmental degradation, creating community.  All worries that can keep the most engaged adult awake, not usually the 13-year old.

However, during these moments, what was also present was an outpouring of communication both verbal and non-verbal.  A look, a touch, the face in the rear-view mirror.  It all said something.

After three days, I had hoped that the tightly clenched fists and wide expressive eyes would soften.  That the physical body would melt from rigidity just a bit.  That an exhale would open the lungs.  That he could smile being with me.

And then  . . .

For an interesting read on anxiety, check out this piece in the NY Times Magazine by Daniel Smith.