"My husband and I carry every year of our son’s life at once inside us"
This unexpectedly leveled me. My superposition is on the other end, watching my beloved father navigate the last years of his life. With a degenerative disease that chips away at him, he's dying in tiny increments each time I see him. And I realized when I read that why it feels like a piece of me is dying with him too.
Aw, Moe. My father's illness took him rather swiftly almost 3 years ago, and I have been figuring out how to replant myself every day since the day he left this earth. I think this line hits because having lost my brother, I know once my mom is gone, there will be no one left who holds all my years. Maybe that's true for you too? Sending you love as you navigate this time, too.
The gorgeous truth of this essay squeezes my heart. They keep on going without us;what once felt impossible is now impossible in a different way. We bought a house, big enough for all of them and their partners to live with us forever, but who would’ve thought that they’d like to live their own lives? But if we had a smaller house, where would they sleep? They will always be my true north. Feeling your feelings this morning.
That was a beautiful sentiment to your son and you soon to be empty nest. What’s next was my eternal question. It is such an enormous thing that parents do- encourage them to fly while wishing him to stay. I’m glad you and Eric have a strong bond, it’s a challenging step of marriage. After years of mostly discussing your boy- now you’re left with an hole in the daily conversation. An unbalanced home. We found solace by checking in with each other every night. Just being present. It was hard to do- but forged a new way for our marriage. Because it was a new marriage- one that was there because we wanted it to be - not just for the sake of a child.
Thanks, Teri. I hold you in my heart, too. Yes, I am very lucky that Erik and I have a long and abiding and deep connection and are talking about all of this together. I can see how it could be hard on a marriage. Love to you!
Very touching and beautiful. I know we’ll be in a very similar position in a few years. I’m loving the discovery of who my children are growing up to be, but the constant shifting is hard at times. Major hugs to you guys. You’ve built a wonderful foundation for your son to launch from but I have no doubt that the transition is just as hard as it is wonderful. <3
I believe it. We want this for our children. We want them to fly and soar…and yet there’s also a lot of complex emotions over this transition. You captured that beautifully in your post.
Loved reading this as it brought it all back. It continues though. Parenthood is forever, even as they're grown. The idea that you just need to get them to 18 is a myth, but off to college and out of the home is a milestone. Glad you are reflecting on each moment of it.
Your lovely writing here resonates with me. This week I asked my wife if she'd like to attend a fundraiser gala for the community nursery school where all three of our (now adult) children attended, and she said that she'd be too sad that that nursery school time in our life came and went. Also, she'd rather we spend time with our remaining child living at home than attend galas.
So exquisitely captured, my friend. You know because you remember how moving Hadley to school was one of the strangest experiences for me; I found it impossible to contain my emotions while surrounded by people in the airport. I was overcome in the security line, and again In my seat on the flight. I can usually manage to hold that back when there are strangers around, but no! The emotion was just RIGHT THERE, like burst into tears level! And it lasted for weeks! I was puzzled because she was my second fledgling. But then again, she was my baby, my only girl, and her move came after losing Poppy. It's such a tender ache, the holding on and letting go. How lucky we are to have held it. How precious is the release.
I remember it, and it didn't seem strange to me for you, because I suspected I would feel the same in your shoes. It's a complete rearranging of the order of things, even if it is a happy one in its own right. It is indeed such a tender ache.
I have been in this moment you so beautifully write about. I remember distinct moments hitting me like the second the rise ends before the dive on the roller coaster. Everything seems to be fine, until it is not. I remember that I worked so hard to be "fine" with my son, the eldest, leaving for college, but the first time we visited, I fell apart on the drive home after seeing him in his "new life" that had a different relationship to mine. Now my kids are 22 and 25 and going through new transitions and I, once again, feel like I am holding on and letting go as they navigate this new stage of young adulthood. Parenting is to always be in superposition. Holding their hands until they can walk on their own. Giving advice or just listening while they navigate the decision of which law school to go to. It is the same loving embrace, just learning when to hold and when to open.
It is a sacred space, this multiplicity, this super-position, if only in the opportunity to grow from it. While I remember the feelings you so precisely describe (my baby just turned 32 Sunday and is a new daddy), here is my reality, written just a couple of weeks ago:
They say context is everything. Today, like every day for the past twelve months, I sit on the fencepost between child and grandmother, contemplating both roles.
At mealtime, I cut up my grandson’s food, then my mother’s food. I snug him into his highchair, then hold her hand while scooting her chair to the table. I wipe his tray afterward, and sweep up the scraps underneath her place.
Each action for him is completed with the unquenchable instinct to nurture, and to express limitless love, while the same steps for her roil up a storm of quite unexpected emotion: resentment, frustration, even confusion. How did our roles become reversed? When did she become so ancient and helpless? How can I keep caring for her, day after day after day? (She is too frail, and lately, too forgetful to live on her own, but today it looks like she will live forever. This too causes unending frustration for me, and then HUGE guilt.)
What could help me see the situation differently? Protect my spirit (and everyone around me) from such thunderous feelings?
Does the depth of my frustration come with the confrontation of my own inevitable powerlessness? Am I simply afraid of being just as she is? I am, definitely, I am.
Oh Sarah, this is stunning! You are in a whole other transitional space. I got a taste of it when caring for my mom after a major surgery this year, but otherwise, yes, a whole other realm. Thank you for the beautiful writing and vulnerable sharing.
Dear mamawriter sister, this beautiful lyric essay made me cry with recognition. I felt deeply every gorgeous moment. All the multiplicity. The comfort of creating safety of our own and realizing that safety also means allowing ourselves to let go what we have created -- it's such a dangerous idea, feels so antithetical. Thank you for sharing your heart, so layered and richly written here. That superposition of all the moments at once so that our children stay with us even when they aren't physically with us, and vice versa, is something I'm holding deeply and dearly in my own being. Thank you for naming this on the page. Big hugs and so much love.
Thank you sweet friend. I know you know! I so appreciate your comment and it's comforting to hear from others that it isn't a severing so much as changing shape. Thanks for the hugs, and right back at you with the love!
I know you mean to be comforting, and I appreciate that. But I want to point out that telling someone "you'll be fine" when they're not feeling fine can easily be interpreted as "shut up and take your feelings elsewhere." I'm sure that's not how you mean it, but since I don't know you... If you've read my 'Stack at all, you'll notice there's quite a lot of emotion on the page. Maybe that's just not your thing.
"My husband and I carry every year of our son’s life at once inside us"
This unexpectedly leveled me. My superposition is on the other end, watching my beloved father navigate the last years of his life. With a degenerative disease that chips away at him, he's dying in tiny increments each time I see him. And I realized when I read that why it feels like a piece of me is dying with him too.
Oh Moe. That hits me for you. That kind of illness and losing is gutting and strange, too. I just want to hug you.
Aw, Moe. My father's illness took him rather swiftly almost 3 years ago, and I have been figuring out how to replant myself every day since the day he left this earth. I think this line hits because having lost my brother, I know once my mom is gone, there will be no one left who holds all my years. Maybe that's true for you too? Sending you love as you navigate this time, too.
The gorgeous truth of this essay squeezes my heart. They keep on going without us;what once felt impossible is now impossible in a different way. We bought a house, big enough for all of them and their partners to live with us forever, but who would’ve thought that they’d like to live their own lives? But if we had a smaller house, where would they sleep? They will always be my true north. Feeling your feelings this morning.
Thanks, Julia. I know you know in so many ways. xo
That was a beautiful sentiment to your son and you soon to be empty nest. What’s next was my eternal question. It is such an enormous thing that parents do- encourage them to fly while wishing him to stay. I’m glad you and Eric have a strong bond, it’s a challenging step of marriage. After years of mostly discussing your boy- now you’re left with an hole in the daily conversation. An unbalanced home. We found solace by checking in with each other every night. Just being present. It was hard to do- but forged a new way for our marriage. Because it was a new marriage- one that was there because we wanted it to be - not just for the sake of a child.
Thanks, Teri. I hold you in my heart, too. Yes, I am very lucky that Erik and I have a long and abiding and deep connection and are talking about all of this together. I can see how it could be hard on a marriage. Love to you!
Very touching and beautiful. I know we’ll be in a very similar position in a few years. I’m loving the discovery of who my children are growing up to be, but the constant shifting is hard at times. Major hugs to you guys. You’ve built a wonderful foundation for your son to launch from but I have no doubt that the transition is just as hard as it is wonderful. <3
Thank you. It's a very layered emotional process. So much pride and joy too, but wow...so complex.
I believe it. We want this for our children. We want them to fly and soar…and yet there’s also a lot of complex emotions over this transition. You captured that beautifully in your post.
Loved reading this as it brought it all back. It continues though. Parenthood is forever, even as they're grown. The idea that you just need to get them to 18 is a myth, but off to college and out of the home is a milestone. Glad you are reflecting on each moment of it.
Yes, I do believe that, and we are lucky to be close with our son, but yeah, this first threshhold is tough.
Your lovely writing here resonates with me. This week I asked my wife if she'd like to attend a fundraiser gala for the community nursery school where all three of our (now adult) children attended, and she said that she'd be too sad that that nursery school time in our life came and went. Also, she'd rather we spend time with our remaining child living at home than attend galas.
aww, that makes perfect sense to me.
Waah!
So exquisitely captured, my friend. You know because you remember how moving Hadley to school was one of the strangest experiences for me; I found it impossible to contain my emotions while surrounded by people in the airport. I was overcome in the security line, and again In my seat on the flight. I can usually manage to hold that back when there are strangers around, but no! The emotion was just RIGHT THERE, like burst into tears level! And it lasted for weeks! I was puzzled because she was my second fledgling. But then again, she was my baby, my only girl, and her move came after losing Poppy. It's such a tender ache, the holding on and letting go. How lucky we are to have held it. How precious is the release.
I remember it, and it didn't seem strange to me for you, because I suspected I would feel the same in your shoes. It's a complete rearranging of the order of things, even if it is a happy one in its own right. It is indeed such a tender ache.
This is so beautiful and emotional, I love it!
Thanks sweets! I hope you're having a great time at college!
I have been in this moment you so beautifully write about. I remember distinct moments hitting me like the second the rise ends before the dive on the roller coaster. Everything seems to be fine, until it is not. I remember that I worked so hard to be "fine" with my son, the eldest, leaving for college, but the first time we visited, I fell apart on the drive home after seeing him in his "new life" that had a different relationship to mine. Now my kids are 22 and 25 and going through new transitions and I, once again, feel like I am holding on and letting go as they navigate this new stage of young adulthood. Parenting is to always be in superposition. Holding their hands until they can walk on their own. Giving advice or just listening while they navigate the decision of which law school to go to. It is the same loving embrace, just learning when to hold and when to open.
This is the truth: "Parenting is to always be in superposition." Thank you for sharing your experience!
Dear Jordan,
It is a sacred space, this multiplicity, this super-position, if only in the opportunity to grow from it. While I remember the feelings you so precisely describe (my baby just turned 32 Sunday and is a new daddy), here is my reality, written just a couple of weeks ago:
They say context is everything. Today, like every day for the past twelve months, I sit on the fencepost between child and grandmother, contemplating both roles.
At mealtime, I cut up my grandson’s food, then my mother’s food. I snug him into his highchair, then hold her hand while scooting her chair to the table. I wipe his tray afterward, and sweep up the scraps underneath her place.
Each action for him is completed with the unquenchable instinct to nurture, and to express limitless love, while the same steps for her roil up a storm of quite unexpected emotion: resentment, frustration, even confusion. How did our roles become reversed? When did she become so ancient and helpless? How can I keep caring for her, day after day after day? (She is too frail, and lately, too forgetful to live on her own, but today it looks like she will live forever. This too causes unending frustration for me, and then HUGE guilt.)
What could help me see the situation differently? Protect my spirit (and everyone around me) from such thunderous feelings?
Does the depth of my frustration come with the confrontation of my own inevitable powerlessness? Am I simply afraid of being just as she is? I am, definitely, I am.
Oh Sarah, this is stunning! You are in a whole other transitional space. I got a taste of it when caring for my mom after a major surgery this year, but otherwise, yes, a whole other realm. Thank you for the beautiful writing and vulnerable sharing.
Dear mamawriter sister, this beautiful lyric essay made me cry with recognition. I felt deeply every gorgeous moment. All the multiplicity. The comfort of creating safety of our own and realizing that safety also means allowing ourselves to let go what we have created -- it's such a dangerous idea, feels so antithetical. Thank you for sharing your heart, so layered and richly written here. That superposition of all the moments at once so that our children stay with us even when they aren't physically with us, and vice versa, is something I'm holding deeply and dearly in my own being. Thank you for naming this on the page. Big hugs and so much love.
Thank you sweet friend. I know you know! I so appreciate your comment and it's comforting to hear from others that it isn't a severing so much as changing shape. Thanks for the hugs, and right back at you with the love!
Beautifully written, Jordan
Thanks, Michelle!
So beautiful, Jordan. I wish your little family continued thriving, safety, and growth.
Going through a similar phase of acceptance and release ❤️
Hugs to you.
On the one hand: phew, on the other, should we not stop and mark moments then as they happen?
I know you mean to be comforting, and I appreciate that. But I want to point out that telling someone "you'll be fine" when they're not feeling fine can easily be interpreted as "shut up and take your feelings elsewhere." I'm sure that's not how you mean it, but since I don't know you... If you've read my 'Stack at all, you'll notice there's quite a lot of emotion on the page. Maybe that's just not your thing.