It is hard to believe that it is already March 2016. I find myself torn between wishing to place life on hold to make these days last longer and marveling at all that these days are bringing. This month marks the passage of several milestones in my family. My middle child will turn 18, she is performing in her final high school performance, when the month ends the last of the colleges will let her know their admission decisions, my oldest came home to visit for the first time in nearly a year as work kept her away, my youngest has begun to find who he is with more confidence and assurance.
In every respect I am blessed. Yet, these same blessings remind me how quickly time is flying by. Another bird will soon leave my nest. The house will be quieter. The day-to-day juggling of schedules will be simpler. I will stare at the pages of the calendar counting the days until my home is once again filled and my family is once again under one roof, if only for a short period of time.
As I revel in the joy of my children’s accomplishments and applaud their independence and success, I can’t help but wage an internal debate asking, “did I have to do such a good job?” Every parent yearns to raise a child who is confident, successful, motivated, independent, intelligent, kind, compassionate, generous, accomplished, selfless, encouraging, caring, loving, and spirited. I am eternally grateful that mine took to their wings and learned to fly, but in the same breath, I secretly hope they will still need me and always remember I am here. It is one more lesson in the life book of parenthood.
When our children are born, we are under the misguided notion that it is all about teaching them. The truth is we learn as much from our children as we are taught. We are reminded of long forgotten lessons our own parents tried to instill and we discover things we never appreciated before. There’s no manual. Every model is one-of-a-kind. Customer support and troubleshooting pages are figments of our imagination. When assembling you simply hope and pray that all the pieces will fit together knowing that our part in the process is limited and a significant part is about shaping ourselves.
We find that our capacity to love is endless. We learn what patience and forgiveness truly mean. We understand that what is valuable and priceless is not the objects in our life, but the people. A broken vase that was a family heirloom is worth far less than the broken heart of your child. You unearth an inner strength that rivals that of every superhero. You accept sacrifice readily if it means your child will be more content and secure. It doesn’t bother you to put less on your plate so your child doesn’t go to sleep hungry. You adapt to sleepless nights and learn to function in a tired mode. You silently cry tears of worry, tears of joy, tears of pain, for your child, with your child, and because of your child. The very instant that you discover you will be a parent, everything changes. You open your arms, embrace your child, nurture your child, protect your child, and then the moment comes that is the hardest of all. That moment you’ve been preparing for and for which no preparation can ever be enough. It is the moment we have to let go.
That single moment is the greatest test of every parent. It is a moment we anticipate with dread and with elation. A myriad of thoughts race through our minds. Are they ready? Am I ready? Can they fly? Will they fly? Do they know their way there and can they find their way home?
As night falls over the emptier nest, shrouding us in quiet darkness we are left with a choice. We can choose to see nothing or we can look up and see the stars. If we have done everything that is expected of us, to the best of our ability, those stars will always guide our child home; home to where the heart is, home to where we are waiting with open arms and a smile that says it all, “Welcome back, I love you.”
Elizabeth D. Spencer 