10 cups of espresso with a packet of adrenaline

I am sitting here in the light of a laptop awaiting the return of the boy to his school.  This first home visit was one that we were so excited about and filled with much promise.  Coming in at gate 13 (omen or coincidence that is his birthday?) brought the light of my life into view.

Jumping up and down as the airplane landed and starring out the window at the gate filled me with such happiness and excitement.  Plans, schedules, input, hard work, and amazing insights brought us to this point some 409 days or 9,816 hours after this journey began.

I truly believed that we would see the cracks, but that they could be repaired without major structural damage.  I truly believed that I would be right in my insights into the bread-crumbs that were dropped at the last visit and in telephone conversations that followed.  I truly believed that I would be right, but that I was open to being wrong with every inch of my being.

I was right.

As I try to stay awake for what will be the ripping of the child from my arms, I will turn around, walk upstairs, and take a sleeping pill.  This, I hope will counter the enormous amount of caffeine and adrenaline pumping through my body.  I hope the nausea will retreat, that my psyche will be tampered down, and that my bundle of joy arrives safe and sound.

I love him and already miss him more than I could imagine.

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 . . .