Roots & Wings

I remember the moment we first strapped our son in his car seat.

He was so little and fragile.
Even though it was our second time as parents,
I still worried that I’d break him.
His sister wanted to send him back to the hospital,
we laughed and called her silly.

He was a fussy baby, a challenge.
It took forever to get him to sleep through the night.
The colicky infant who woke up every few hours
morphed into a toddler
who wouldn’t stay in his bed
until we checked every nook and cranny for monsters.

¾ of my paycheck went to a good family babysitter for the two of them,
it was either that, or lose experience in the corporate world.
I was still the one who had to leave work
to pick him up from school when he didn’t feel well,
the one who helped him with his homework,
toys all over, stepping on a Lego or an Army guy.
Where, by the way, did that come from?
I was the one who said “NO WAR TOYS”!

Those were the days it took all weekend
to handle the pile of stinky boy laundry,
running out of the house to buy new sneakers
for feet that grew (I swear to God they did)
into a new size overnight.

Failing at Cub Scouts.
Watching him pick buttercups in the outfield
at peewee baseball,
running to me at the change of innings
to hold them against my chin,
getting him to Karate on time
so he wouldn’t be embarrassed and meltdown,
helping him learn to pack light for a Boy Scout camp out,
finding the perfect accessory for musical theater,
rushing out of the office to see him run a cross country meet,
stepping back as plans for his Eagle project were drawn up,
then tossed,
then drawn up again…

Life is just so busy
that you never stop to think what the end of those days will look like.
It’s not even something you can wrap your mind around.
18 years sounds like a long time, but it isn't.

My special little guy who used to crawl up next to me
and cuddle watching cartoons
became a young adult who bends down to press
his forehead to my mouth for a kiss
quickly in the hallway.
There's someplace else he's got to be.

And the chaos and laughter that used to be a part of the fabric of this home
turns to meditative silence.
I’ve parented a child who is capable of letting go,
but along the way forgot to learn how to do the same.

So I stalk social media,
and wonder how time passed so quickly,
uneasy that I forgot to tell him some tiny nugget of wisdom.
18 years... just isn't enough.

Did I read him enough books?
Did I pay enough attention?
How many school parties did I have to miss?
Does he really know how much I love him?
What could I have done better?
Will he want to come back?

The questions hit you like a Mac truck.
And all you can do is pray
and hope
and trust that God will protect him
as he begins to make his way into the world.
Because there will never be enough time.

All you parents with young children,
you who are holding on just trying to figure out
how to make it through the madness,
exhausted every day of your life...

Take a breath. Soak it in. Hug it out.

One day all the crazy days
full of cartoons and snuggles,
play dates and ballgames,
driver’s ed and captain’s dinners,
All come to an end.

That’s when you’re left hoping that you did enough things right
for him to remember that you will always be safe ground,
because you gave him
roots and wings.