She’s been grumbling about it all week.
Well, not really grumbling; more like under-the-breath muttering and wishing that her graduation ceremony was at this time of year instead of in the fall.
“Yeah, and there’s no graduation parties. And no graduation presents either. This sucks.”
I’ve been nodding my head in empathy and making comments like, “I know how you feel,” and “Well, at least you have something to look forward to…”
It doesn’t seem to be making a difference.
I didn’t really think it would, but I was hoping that it might. Even just a little.
I’m trying to approach the whole ‘her high school days are over’ topic with as little fanfare as possible. It’s not that I don’t think it’s worthy of celebrating.
It’s not that I’m not proud of her accomplishments and how hard she has worked, especially over the past year.
It’s just that I really don’t see this as an ‘ending’ as much as I view it as the end of a new beginning for her.
She’s so excited about all of the changes that are on the horizon! Between receiving notification that she is now ‘officially’ listed as living in residence in September to choosing her university courses and declaring her major, her life has been a series of questions, decisions and challenges over the past several months.
She goes about the business of talking about how many hours she is going to be working this summer and I have started making plans for what I am going to do with the spare room in the house and both of us avoid the topic of ‘moving day’.
It’s a diversion for both of us.
I know it.
She knows it.
We both ignore it.
At least, I try to ignore it.
It’s not really working.
There’s so much I want to say to her; I have been rehearsing that speech for a quite a long time.
As parents, we love. Some of us do it unconditionally, quietly, or reservedly. Some of us do it passionately, out loud, and full of colour. But there are always ‘conditions’; not with the love we send out into the universe, but more inward in nature, and based on our own needs, our own insecurities, and our own desires to be heard, loved and understood.
It’s a hard thing to do: Letting go.
It doesn’t matter if it’s a teenager spreading their wings and leaving the nest, or an adult child surrendering to life’s process and saying goodbye to a parent who is being lifted on eagle’s wings.
Brazilian lyricist and novelist, Paulo Coelho, once said: “Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them. They move on. They move away. The moments that used to define them are covered by moments of their own accomplishments. It is not until much later, that children understand; their stories and all their accomplishments, sit atop the stories of their mothers and fathers, stones upon stones, beneath the water of their lives.”
From this U of W first-year parent's perspective, there will always be questions that we will struggle to to ask our children. A few of the brave parents do and will. For most of the rest of us, we will look for answers and try to find a way to find our way.
Oh, sweet child-of-mine! There are so many things I want to tell you! So many ways in which I have already started the process of letting you go! From watching you from a distance as you crossed the street by yourself to helping you pick out your prom dress, I have been letting you go with every step you have taken.
In The Road Home, author Michael Thomas Ford writes: “There’s nothing more complicated – or fragile – than the relationship between parents and their children. It’s like no other relationship there is. And no one tells you how to make it work. Either you find your way or you don’t.”
I think we’re both helping each other find our way.
Sometimes I catch you watching me and your eyes are full of questions you are hesitant to ask. Let me answer them for you: Yes, I think you can do it; Yes, you make me proud; Yes, I love you with all my heart.
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