Today is my youngest son’s birthday. He is still away at college. He doesn’t have any final exams today, but he does have two tomorrow, so he’ll spend his day studying. We laughed together this morning, when we talked about that fact. Adult birthdays aren’t quite as magical as when you are little kid. Real life still has to happen, with a cake break, if you are lucky.
It is strange not having him home for his birthday. I have been through this now, with both of his older brothers, but it still feels strange. Is there anything more intimate between a mother and her child, than her child’s birthday? On the day of a child’s birth, the child gets the blessing of life on Earth breathed into them, and also, at that very moment, the mother has already begun the gradual, painful, yet affirming process of releasing her child and letting go.
I asked my son, “How do you feel about it being the last year of your teens?”
He answered, “How do you feel about it?”
My real unsaid response was this – Oh, honey, you don’t want me to unleash the storm of feelings that I feel on every single one of your and your sibling’s birthdays. The torrent of pride and love and bewilderment and fear and memories and giggles and gratefulness and giddiness and pain and hope and guilt and amusement and joy and awe would probably be too much for both of us to handle . . . . but maybe not. Maybe that torrent of emotion is what we both felt, on the crescendo of that beautiful winter day, nineteen years ago. And I think that we have both turned out pretty good, so far. We weather well. I know that I love our relationship. I know that I love you from the deepest wells of my heart. The relationships that I have with you and your siblings and your father, is what my makes my life sing its very song. Thank you for the gift of my sacred song.
Instead I answered, “I feel great! I’m proud of you. I love you. Have a wonderful day!” And then we hung up, and I let go, just a little more.
Exactly that!
Right?!