Parenthood is Bittersweet

May 6 00:15 UTC 1997

Well, parenthood is sometimes bittersweet.  We knew that, right?  If we had
any doubts, surely that first month of morning sickness all day long should
have gotten the message across.  *sigh*

I remember the day my eldest son's umbilicus fell off.  I cried and cried.
I sensed that it was the first of many, many steps away from me and away from
the place where I could protect him.  My MiL and husband both thought i was
nuts when they asked why I was crying and I said "Because he'll grow up too
fast and one day he'll leave home forever."  "Pshaw, they said, he's six days
old.  Don't be silly."

Well, I swear to you that was only a few weeks ago ... well, ok, it was 16
years and 9 months ago... but the day has come.

As many of you know from my postings here, life with my eldest, my bane and
my joy, has been anything but rosy for the last few years.  He's been in and
out of trouble with the law, he's run away from home a number of times just
because he wanted " a vacation".  Now he's up on felony charges and as of the
19th of May, he may be in prison for a year or more.

All the turmoil aside, it's a bittersweet moment for us.  He moved out a week
ago yesterday into his very own place.  It's not much of a place 9in fact,
human habitation may be skirting the law) but he's not got much of a budget.
It's actually a tool shed filled with years' accumulation of "stuff, old
tools, old clothes, even a wood burning stove - though the chimney's on the
floor several feet away.  Nonetheless, my resourceful, imaginative child has
gathered cast offs, scrubbed until his hands were rough and red, and turned
this unheated, windowless space into an almost charming little home.  Since
the place has no running water, he has a collection of soda bottles filled
fresh every day from the taps at the main house.  

I went over there yesterday to bring him an old sofa from our home, and his
pride as he showed me every nook and cranny was radiant.  He looked like a
cross between the five year old who proudly showed me his first gold start
from kindergarten and the handsome young man who was his brand new father so
few yeas ago.  It broke my heart.

But the sadness at his going and the pride at his growing were joined by other
emotions.  I'm envious, too, of his new beginnings.  I remember so well the
exhilaration of my own beginnings.  The joy and pride at my own very first
apartment.  I envy him, too, the simplicy of his new lifestyle.  I remember
well the uncomplicated ways, the exquisite joys of a life stripped to its
essentials.  It reminds me of the way his father and I lived back when he was
a baby.  I'm fearful, too.  he's shown a serious lack of judgement.  What more
will he find with even less of his parents supervision?  ...or will this new
home, this insignia of his 'adulthood', inspire in him a responsibility he
never showed before?  That's how it worked for me, and yet I know that to be
a rare reaction.

It's hard to keep the tears from my eyes today, and yesterday, and probably
for a number of tomorrows to come.  I knew this was coming.  I had just hoped
it would take longer to arrive.

response 2 of 4:

May 7 23:59 UTC 1997

We parent-types like to think of ourselves as
teaching our children how to be independent.
But sometimes I think the lesson and the roles
get reversed.

response 4 of 4:

May 8 23:55 UTC 1997

Thanks, Void, Kami.

As Mary says, if we've done our job as parents and taught our kids to be
independent, they turn the tables on us and teach us to let go.  It's sad,
but it's how its supposed to be.

And I'm just as proud and happy for him as I am sad and wistful for the little
boy who's passing is thus marked.

I still get teary from time to time and his antics as a toddler have come to
mind very readily lately, but I'm feeling much better.