I try not to think ahead, but it’s human nature, I guess. The close-at-hand start of the new school year always leaves me feeling schmaltzy. August breeze, the smell of oats being combined, the dust of the wagons loaded with chopped straw, kids going back to school to practice for the fall sports season — all combine to form a sentimental ball deep in my heart.
The busyness of these pre-fall days on the farm doesn’t deter my heart from filling with a restless wistfulness. The capability to be physically active while emotionally being in another place altogether amazes me.
The first of the lasts are happening. Our daughter will be a senior in high school this year and already I’m thinking ahead — the last time for her first day of high school, the last volleyball match, the last basketball game, the last softball contest. Lack of sporting events will be terribly depressing. Irritated with myself, I whisper a prayer, “One day at a time, Lord!”
I’ve had some good advice to cope with the different stages of child rearing. A mom friend calls one stage, “intermission.” I like the thought of that. It’s the time in life when the house is a bit empty, but that doesn’t mean that the show won’t ever begin again. It’s just a little interval, a break, a pause in the action.
Intermission can be good. A time to refresh, anticipating the next act.
Once when our oldest was just a little tyke we were preparing for 4-year-old-kindergarten. My sister and I were in the store shopping for school supplies with him. He was intrigued with the backpacks; we were next to him, looking at crayons, trying to decide between the 32 pack and the 64 when I broke down, a wave of something like homesickness washing over me. My baby was going to school!
Lowering my head to try to fight it, my sister noticed and immediately sensed the dam was about to break. “Oh for heaven’s sake, pinch yourself!” She whisper scolded, not unkindly, for she knew me so well.
That made me laugh, as she knew it would, breaking the sharp pain that was threatening my heart just then. It happens every year, and it doesn’t matter if they’re starting pre-k, their senior year in high school or their first year of college, it’s a mother letting go. Momma tears.
It’s not just the momma that gets upset, though. I know the dads and even the siblings feel it just as keenly, perhaps not so in-your-face with the emotion. My husband gets quiet, keeps busy. That’s the key, I think. When our son started his freshman year of college we dropped him off at the dorm and when we got home there was this hush, the house was so unnaturally quiet. I noticed a pair of his shoes, unoccupied. I stood stupidly in the middle of the kitchen, inert. My heart filled and my eyes followed, welling up over the borders, threatening to spill over.
Glancing at our daughter, I could tell she felt his absence, too.
“Let’s do something,” I suggested to her, impatiently brushing my tears away. “Let’s re-do your room!” Her eyes lit up, we both headed upstairs. Assessing her space, we decided to paint.
“What color, Mom?”
“Whatever you’d like! Pink? Red? Purple?” Laughing, we decided on florescent green – a stunning, festive and extraordinarily dazzling color. Just what the doctor ordered. Immediately we headed to town, got the paint and within days, had redecorated her room, fresh new curtains and a new bedspread with throw pillows to match. The whole project helped lift our spirits, took our minds off the too-quiet house and got us over the hump.
When our kids (and I’m talking about everyone’s) want to reach out and step away to find their place in this world, it means they were raised with a sense of knowing who they are, the self-confidence to find their way and the deep desire to become independent. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to usher ours back inside the safe confines of my arms and never let go! It’s hard, so hard.
So many emotions wash over me, and memories come flooding back. Their little arms hugging my knees, their faces soft and warm pressed against my cheek, their small hand in mine, doing everything for them and then, in a turn, we see them walk away with a wave and a, “I love you! Thanks for everything!” It breaks my heart. I turn to my Heavenly Father.
“Lord, help us parents take it one day at a time as we let the children you have placed in our care go out into this big world. They are Yours. We’ve just nurtured them for a moment in time. Help us release them to You as we watch them fly. Keep them safe, Father. Remind them of all we have taught them through Your word. And as we release them and pray for them, do not let us be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, let us always remember to present our requests to You. And let Your peace, which transcends all understanding, guard our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen!” (Philippians 4:6-7)
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