Roots, Wings & the Space in Between

My latest musing, & it’s kind of a painful one, is how many times did I hurt my Mom during my teen years?? My Mom is gone so I have no way of asking her, but given that I have a kid who’s very similar to me, I’m getting a pretty good idea & all I can say is – I’m so sorry Mom!! :0

Yesterday afternoon I rushed home from a flight I wasn’t even supposed to be on yet. I had originally planned to return the following day but paid to change my ticket so I could arrive in time to see my son get ready for & go to his first prom. I was a bundle of relief when the flight left on time & there were no snafus, leaving me plenty of time to get home & enjoy this special occasion every parent looks forward to.

 But my excitement came to a grinding halt when I walked in the door, saw my son, gave him a hug & his single, snarky comment was “jeez, Mom, you were only gone for a few days” (in response to my, clearly, too big embrace).  In that moment, I flashed back to the little boy who once chalked a giant “WELCOME HOME” on our driveway after a short business trip. The one who used to leave adorable voicemails every day telling me how much he missed me and asking exactly when I’d be home. All I can say is thank goodness I saved some of those messages to remind myself of a time when I was more missed, more appreciated, less annoying, less embarrassing, and loved in a very different way than I am today.

Parenting a teenager is such a delicate dance. On one hand, I’m awestruck by this young man—his deep voice, his tall and lanky frame, his sharp wit that has me laughing to tears more often than I care to admit. But on the other hand, I miss the sugary, syrupy sweetness of that freckled little boy who believed the sun and moon rose and set by me.

These days, I tread carefully. I keep a toe in his world, gently coaxing conversation without pushing too hard, respecting the sacred space he’s carving out for himself. I try to be a sounding board when he wants or needs one. I show interest in the things that light him up. I do my best to sometimes take my “mom hat” off and respond more like a trusted confidant. I let him take the reins on most every six-of-one-half-dozen-of-the-other decision. I even stay quiet when I’m 5.99 out of 6.00 sure he’s making the wrong choice (and yeah, those occasions can require me to gnaw on my own tongue in an effort to allow him to make & learn from his own mistakes).

It’s fascinating how much of our past shapes our parenting. I remember despising the way my Mom would machine-gun fire questions at me the second I got into the car after school. How was your day? How were your classes? How’d your test go? How’s Jennie? How’s Christine? How was your lunch? Did you like the honey turkey I packed today ‘cause usually I pack oven-roasted… and on, and on, and onnnnnnn she went. My hackles shot up each time she did this & like a frightened turtle, I retracted swiftly into my teenage shell even if I’d initially intended to share a few things about my day. The only thing her incessant inquisition did was earn us a quiet ride home or, one dotted with “fine” & “good” one word, can-we-please-be-done-talking responses. I’m super sensitive about not doing this to Caiden & yet the silence in the car is deafening sometimes & I’m so curious about what’s going on in my beloved young person’s life.

I have to keep reminding myself—again and again—that this is what’s supposed to happen. He’s supposed to pull away. He’s supposed to go. And in just two short years, he will.

Two years. A blink.

And as much as I’ll deeply miss him, I don’t want him clinging tightly to me. That would mean I didn’t do my job. That I didn’t prepare him to take on this big, wild, wonderful world on his own.

So, to my mom—wherever you are—I get it now, I really do. I understand the ache, the frustration, the quiet heartbreak of being pushed away by the very person who once starry-eyed adored you.

And to my son: I see you, I love you, and I’m doing my best to let go… even when every part of me wants so desperately to hold on.

Because love at this stage is about trust. Trusting the roots we’ve planted. Trusting that the bonds we’ve built aren’t broken, perhaps they’re just under a massive renovation. And that sweetness we once shared? I’m trusting that isn’t gone either—it’s simply evolving into something deeper, quieter, and, someday, equally as beautiful.