Growth

I cried when you were born because I didn't know how to take care of a baby -- much less, two babies.

I cried when you went to preschool because it seemed like such a big step.

I cried when you first rode the bus to school.  All of the possibilities and fears and what-ifs.

I cried when you asserted yourself and wanted to do what you wanted to do.

(And yet, I rejoiced all the days when you'd run to greet me at the playground fence when I drove by in the middle of the day.)

I cried when you first walked through the doors of middle school. Way bigger. Way scarier than elementary school.

(And yet, I rejoiced because you kept hugging me goodbye and kept saying "I love you." as I dropped you off for the day.)

I cried when I couldn't fix things that weren't going like you wanted them to go.

I cried when you went to high school and I got a glimpse of even more independence.

(And yet. You were still warm and welcoming when you'd see me at school or at cross country meets.)

I cried when you went to college -- for a number of reasons -- but one more step of independence... More out of sight. More on your own. More decisions to be made without my input.

I cried when you traveled abroad. I cried when you came home. I cried when you moved to a new city. I cried when you started making plans for study far, far away.

Alllll of the times a mother has to let go never, ever prepare her for the next time she has to do it.

A mother doesn't know how to mother until she's given the gift of children.

And then a mother doesn't know how NOT to mother.

She practices and practices how to loosen her grip, but the lesson of mothering goes way below the surface.

How does a mother learn to let go? How does she release some of the illusion of control? How does she keep her little babies close and let them grow up at the same time? How does she encourage independence and joy and exploration and discovery and love and growth while still having the urge to hold her babies close and never let them leave the nest?

How does she rediscover herself as her self? What is she now that she's no longer a full-time wife and mother? What are her hopes and dreams? What are her wishes for her very own self? Where does she begin the next phase of her life? What can she do that is fulfilling and beneficial (not just for herself) that no longer has a real emphasis on mothering?

Every grief has layers.

And yet -- while there is grief in letting go, there is also hope...

Hope.

It's a very good word.