Letting Go. A Mother's Snotty, Tearful Acceptance

Sometimes when my life is a blur and I can’t imagine adding another thing to my overly ambitious “to do” list.  When my husband’s been out of town and I’ve been on deadline, barely sleeping, sitting way too much, fingers arthritic from typing, typing, typing, when my back is in spasms (from sitting way too much) and my brain exhausted from thinking up story ideas, one after another and another, when my kids look like ragamuffins and their rooms are in a state of post apocalyptic hurricane destruction, when dirty dishes are piled up in the sink, and baskets of laundry sit unattended, when toys, books, papers are scattered everywhere and our refrigerator smells like there’s a dead rat rotting in some forgotten, moldy take-out container, when the thought of changing a single roll of toilet paper feels like the proverbial straw that just might break this camel’s back... 

On days like these, when my work output is actually pretty good, but my self-esteem has plummeted because I feel like the biggest loser/failure of a mother/functioning/coherent adult, the last thing I need on days like these is to add more guilt to my already overwhelming massive sense of guilt about neglecting the needs of my family.

But sometimes life brings you unexpected gifts that completely jolt you into a hyper real sense of knowing -- knowing that despite the rotten smelly refrigerator and unfinished “to do” list, you are a mother and a good one at that.

Today’s gift came in the form of a thunderbolt that struck at the most unexpected time in the most unexpected place.  I was doing nothing particularly memorable -- just parking my car in the parking lot at Veggie Grill waiting to go buy my son a surprise tofu chicken nugget lunch -- his favorite -- when it hit me that my 11-year-old boy was having his first sleepover tonight.  He’s had friends stay over at our house, but this is the first time he was staying someplace else -- without us.

The thought of him brushing his teeth in somebody else’s bathroom, peeing in their toilet, his spindly legs climbing into someone else’s bed and putting his shaggy head to sleep on someone else’s pillow -- these mundane images triggered the most unexpected deep, primal, guttural responses I’ve ever had.  I became a mess -- flooded with waves of powerful emotions -- image upon image of my son’s childhood bubbling up, sweeping me into a sea of jumbled memories -- giggles and blown out diapers, onesies covered in spaghetti sauce, cardboard boxes turned into spaceships to take a trip to the moon and the following hysteria that followed when it was realized cardboard boxes aren’t spaceships and the trip would be an imaginary one, remembering how we always had to save a place at the table for Audie, an imaginary friend with green hair and orange skin and purple eyes who came with us everywhere for two + years.  Memories of so many firsts: First days at schools, first fevered nights, projectile vomiting flus, nursery rhymes and splinters, first words and first fears, sticky cotton candied baby fingers, wiggly toes in his footie jammies, the sound of Moos and cock-a-doodle-doos, when pre-verbal animal sounds were the only form of conversation we had.  On and on the memories of the last eleven years with my son came tumbling out in random, nonsensical order.

I was a crying, snotty mess.  

I told myself to stop.  I was being silly.  To get my shit together.  It’s not like I’m shipping my son off to college, I said.  It’s a sleepover -- a simple, normal, coming of age/right of passage everyday occurrence that children and parents everywhere go through. 

But I couldn’t stop.  No matter how rational I tried to be, because when I start crying I cry until I’m wrung dry. 

And today that took about twenty minutes.  I let myself indulge and when I was finally done, I felt a release that I haven’t felt since my performance days as a dancer -- a transcendent spiritual transformation.  Like I had released all the pain and guilt and sorrow of unrequited motherhood and I was on the other side of something -- something profound and significant.  As bittersweet and painful as it was to relive all those memories it was equally joyful.

It felt like I'd been baptised.  Like my heart had burst and left me with a deeper sense of connection to myself -- the self I’ve known ever since I can remember knowing anything that required words to describe it. 

I had let go -- survived this new growing pain and I felt better.  Still feel better because the feeling has stayed with me all day. 

I have so much love for this little man who is on his way in the world -- well, a few houses down the street -- but still making strides towards independence. 

Why am I sharing this?  I guess because if you’re like me -- always-busy working -- it’s easy to blow through life’s transitions and rites of passages. 

My son made a transition today I will never forget.  A part of me let a piece of him go and as silly as it may seem it’s a big deal to me. 

He’s growing up. 

Me too.

UPDATE:  10:17pm.  The phone rang and it was our boy.  He wanted to say goodnight and tell us he loved us.  He kissed and hugged the phone and all is well in the world…