Learning to Let Go

 

Last night was the first Halloween in which I didn’t walk door to door with my son. I didn’t give it much thought before hand, but I knew it was likely he’d ditch me for running around with the neighbor boys. He’s twelve after all, finally ‘a man’, and I’m totally uncool…according to him anyway. I’m beginning to realize how much of parenting is about learning to let go. Through the ‘firsts’ and the ‘lasts’. Letting go always shows up, knocking at the door.

And wow, is it hard.

From the first drop off at daycare, to the first steps taken. From learning to do things ‘all by myself’ to potty training. From the first day of school and the first bus ride to the first lost tooth. And so on. You get where I’m going with this, right? Milestones, like the rungs on the ladder, lead upward to a sky of possibilities. It’s a great thing, really. Watching our kids grow and develop, become their own people. Yet it’s hard too. We spend so much time teaching and loving, hugging and holding, with the very goal our kids will become responsible, caring, independent people. But when that independence starts to happen, it can be like a punch in the gut.

In the beginning, for me at least, these growth milestones were celebrated. The first steps, the tooth under the pillow, the first day of kindergarten. They were emotional, but not jarring. Because I still had plenty of years of mothering ahead of me. But this last year? Whoa. It’s been much harder. My baby is a middle schooler now. He doesn’t need or want me around as much. He’s independent, social and too cool for school. It feels like it happened over night, the difference between last year and this being like night and day. Last Fall, we were visiting an apple orchard when Grandma took a picture of him and I together. Right as she was snapping the picture, he launched a surprise kiss on my cheek. This year? I couldn’t even get him to consider going to an apple orchard with me. Hmph!

He refuses to get his picture taken, especially with me, about 95% of the time. He won’t give hugs. And kisses on the cheek? FORGET ABOUT IT. And the first day of school this year? He ASKED ME TO HIDE BEHIND A BUSH,when I said I wanted to watch him get on the bus. You can read all about that ridiculousness here. It’s hard. It feels like I’m losing him. When in reality, he’s just growing into himself. Exactly what I’ve been trying to teach him to do all along. From holding his bottle, to feeding himself, from bathing himself to getting dressed. This is what we teach our kids to do. We teach them to become independent. Yet, I’m just not sure we’re ever really ready for it.

Recently, a friend of mine posted a picture on social media of her boy driving away for the first time. His first time driving alone. Away from her. Without her. I looked at this picture and thought about her heart breaking a little bit, and my eyes started to fill with tears as I thought about that same moment happening to me, four years from now. Yet this is what it’s all about, isn’t it? And last night as I stood on my neighbor’s lawn, watching my son run with the other boys from house to house asking for tricks or treats, my heart swelled with joy, and broke into little pieces, all at once. Bittersweet this is. Letting go.

I thought to myself about the wonders and the joy I was filled with in that very moment. Because you see, he’s struggled so much over the years with friendships, and bullying and feeling alone. And yet here he was. Running with a group of boys…from yard to yard. Laughing and screaming and a smile from ear to ear. He is happy. And therefore I am happy.

It doesn’t mean letting go isn’t hard. But it is an amazing thing to watch our children learn how to fly, isn’t it? We start by feeding them and teaching them the ways to spread their wings. And little by little, they do. They stretch their arms, and test their strength. They step out, bit by bit, and learn. And as they do, we know our job is done. And perhaps that’s why it’s so hard. We will always mother and love and be there. But those very babies that needed us to pick them up, lay them down, push them, hold them, feed them…they don’t need that help anymore. And suddenly we find ourselves asking what is our role now? How do we love them and feed their soul the same way, when it is less defined? They’ll tell us. This is what I’m learning.

He will tell me what he needs. I will learn to accept one armed half hugs and hiding behind bushes. All in the name of letting go. I know, he’ll never be far away. He carries my heart, after all. But I’m learning how to let him fly, the best I know how. Because soon, the nest will be empty. But my baby? He’ll be soaring on his own, wings spread wide. Just like I taught him.