Written about 1986

I watched him pack up his books and I knew he was leaving for good this time.

He did that once before, when he was 18 and went away to college. I grieved then, too, not knowing he'd be back.

The taking of his books is an indication he means business. He didn't take all of them becaause he didn't have room. But the process has begun.

I watched, the tears stinging my eyes but determined not to let him see me cry. Somewhere inside I thought maybe I should let him see me cry. It's the only way he'll let me show him I care. And he has little patience with that.

This child of mine--correction, this man I gave birth to 21 years ago--hasn't been the easiest person to live with. We were on entirely different levels and therefore communicated rarely, if at all. He kept his emotions hidden and I didn't do that well at all. His brain was like a sponge soaking up all the knowledge it came in contact with; mine could barely function day to day.

I didn't realize it but the day he was born, I began to lose him. His mind was so full of the wonder of everything around him I couldn't keep up. Sometimes I used the excuse that I was too busy trying to keep up all clean, fed and clothed but that wasn't all of it. Maybe I was by nature incapable of being his friend so he left me behind. And maybe I didn't try hard enough.

When he was 18 I knew it was time for him to go, to search for his place in the world. The grief was unbearable. I cried almost constantly for days, weeks. Than, a kind of resignation set in. I let go, painful as it was.

A miracle happened. He moved his books back home, claiming he had no place to put them. Secretly I was glad, knowing where his books were, there his heart was. I got a reprieve. I tried to make it work and to some degree I was successful. Little by little we were able to have normal conversations, at least about some things. We laughed a little together and occasionally talked about the way things are. But a distinct line was drawn and I did my best not to cross it. My efforts seemed to pay off, a little.

I thought I had another year, or maybe three. He's a senior in college now and hasn't decided whether to get his master's. But he had a light semester and wants to get a job. Seems there's this expensive computer he wants and he'll need a job to pay for it. There's also need for a different apartment, one that isn't quite so cold in the winter and doesn't leak when it rains.

So now my little boy, who hasn't been really young for a long time, is taking his last steps toward independence. He'll be back to visit, of course, but he'll never live at home again, not like he once did. Some parents seem glad to get the kid out of the house. I don't understand that kind of thinking.

I'll get used to it, somehow. Even grief runs its course. Changes are part of life. So is the growing up of a child. It's the way things are and I wouldn't have it any other wayl Someday he may even present me with a daughter and some grandchildren.

And sometimes at night, when the only sounds are creaking walls and the thoughts inside my own head, I'll say a prayer of thanks for the privilege of watching and helping my child become a man.