It seems only fitting that the first post here in some time allows the echoes of the past year’s closures to resonate into tones of a new horizon. It brings to mind an audio CD I created back in 1997, a track reflecting on the loss of a relative and a particular friend. I found the opportunity to fade out of “Old Friends” by Lyle Lovett into the swelling orchestral movements of “Bring Him Home” from Les Miserables. Exactly where the notes matched perfectly. It was a seamless segue that transitions an ending into a continuation, as has been 2022.
How this came about has little to do with my actions but in significant part with my reactions, how the kids have worked through the loss of their mom and the continuation of their lives without her ties into my efforts to have been available to her, and them throughout every moment. Not just being present but being accessible, trying to listen, not always but frequently hearing their struggles to resolve their own experiences and feelings and to ‘come out of it’ stronger because of it.
Walking with Lauren towards the student union felt transitional. Helping her find the proper sign with the appropriate name she was directed to felt like gently pushing a boat away from the dock. Watching her drift in the right direction and turning to look one last time as I walked out of the room felt, well. Shit. The tears still well as I write this. I don’t know what the right word is for how that felt. But I felt it and still do.
This was our second visit to this site in 5 days. We came up here with Jen last Saturday to see it all together. Not only did it enable us to come today with insight on where to head, but it also filled me with a sense of optimism and excitement for her next steps into continued education, adulthood, and the next phase of her life. She’s close enough to come home on the weekends yet far enough away to start experiencing greater independence and autonomy than she’s ever had.
She is so ready for it, too. The past year has been a fantastic period of rapid transformation. She’s blossomed. She’s come into her own in so many ways, and this move puts her in control without leaving her as removed and isolated and inaccessible as San Diego, Colorado, or Florida would have been. It’s an easy ease of a path to take. And who knows, maybe in the next two years Jennifer and I will find our way their too. In the meantime, her home, her family and her dog are all close.
Tommy’s path is less settled. And that’s ok. For the time being, as much as we might struggle and clash, having him home allows him to work through his trauma and feelings and to start working on some business interests that may be educational and perhaps even a path that takes him to a level of independence that he seeks. That would be awesome.
I’ve had conversations with others who have experienced the transition of their children into adults, heading to college, leaving the house, and becoming independent. Most have shared how intense of an experience it has been. I heard them, but not I get it fully.
It makes me sad that their mom wasn’t around to see these next steps taking place. I imagine she would have felt the pride and satisfaction of seeing them reach this point. Perhaps it would have been accompanied by anxiety, worries, and that typical protective-mother behavior that would have caused my eyes to roll. Still, even as recently as this morning, while having breakfast with Lauren at Pancake Circus, I have worked to convey that pride on her behalf. Keeping them conscious of her and representing her best intentions remains a reaction to all that has happened leading up to this point and will continue to be my “response” -ability as their surviving parent.