My husband and I were waiting at the gate, eager to see if a month overseas had changed our boy. He had turned twenty-one in December and then left us, just two weeks later, to join a group of fellow Theatre and Music majors for an intensive inter-term course in London. All through January, we read his blog posts and his daily theatre reviews, and wondered, “When did he become a critic?” It is a strange feeling, to watch your child fly further and further away from the nest, to see a shy teenager metamorphose first into a college student and then, almost before you know it, into a young man ready to make his own way in the world.
“This trip has given me a taste of what it is like to be completely responsible for myself,” Henry wrote on his last day in London. “As I near the end of my junior year of college, my mind frequently turns to what life will be like ‘in the real world’ without the consistent foundation that I have come to expect from school, home, and family. While I was still under the wing of St. Olaf on this trip, having money, tickets, and accommodations provided for me, the reality that I will have to come up with these things on my own in a year and a half is starting to hit me.”
Reading those words, while my son was winging his way back across the Atlantic, the reality started to hit me, too. Another chapter is almost over. It feels as if his senior year of high school is still close enough to touch, yet his senior year of college is just months away. How did we get here so fast? When our son appeared in the terminal, tired, rumpled, dragging his bag, my heart leapt at the sight of him. There is some latent maternal instinct that surges through me even now, urging, “hold on tight and don’t let go.” The three of us went out to dinner, Steve and I mindful of the fact that it was well after midnight London time, but unable to stop our flow of questions. And yet, even though Henry was happy to fill in details, describing the food, the plays, the people, even his drinking exploits at various pubs, it was clear that the real experience, the real growth, was invisible and inexpressible. The trip was his, not ours, no matter how vivid his travelogue. Travel changes us. Age changes us. Distance is distance, and our children grow up and leave home for lives of their own, elsewhere. Just as they should.
This week, though, Henry is at home. For a few days, he’s back in his bedroom upstairs, he’s eating breakfast with us in the morning, watching re-runs of the Daily Show with me in the middle of the day, sprawling on the couch with a book. He’s also been busy applying for summer jobs and practicing the piano, preparing pieces for a solo concert he intends to give this spring. There is not a moment that I don’t want to seize, prolong, capture, and save.
Today, I’m grateful for snow. It means that we can skip the errands and the haircut and stay put. The houseguest who was supposed to arrive tonight isn’t going to make it; all flights are cancelled. Good! We’ll eat leftovers from the fridge, light a fire, watch a movie before bed. When Henry sits down at the piano to play a suite of Spanish dances, I stop what I’m doing, become perfectly still, and listen, a grateful audience of one to this work that arises from the depths of his soul.
I’m so aware, these days, that my son’s visits now really are just that — visits. More and more his real life will occur away from us, in places determined by love, luck, career, destiny. Proof-reading his cover letter for a summer job in St. Louis, I’m a little astonished at how much he’s already accomplished in his short life, how much he has to offer a potential employer, how clear he is about his aspirations. I’m excited for him and conscious, too, that a job at a theatre far from home will be one more step in his inevitable journey away from childhood and into adulthood, a journey that began years ago, with kisses and good-byes at classroom doors, and is simply continuing now into more distant territory, as it is certainly meant to do.
And so, I remind myself that it is futile, and silly, to try to hold on to any of these moments. Why bring on such sadness? How much easier life is when I remember to keep things simple in my heart, when I allow myself to enjoy this wintery week of togetherness without mourning its passing at the same time.
“Think of mindfulness,” writes Buddhist teacher Sylvia Boorstein, “as hanging out happily.” What a wonderful instruction for a snow day with a grown-up child at home. What a wonderful instruction for life. And what a pleasure it is to just do that: to hang out happily, and nothing more.
P.S. Please join me and Karen Maezen Miller for a Mindful Mothering live chat on The Motherhood, Thu., Feb. 10, 1 pm EST
You’re several years ahead of me, but I’m enjoying this snow day–and likely, days–too. Art projects. Leftovers. Jammies all day (even under snowpants!) and popcorn in front of a movie later. All that’s missing is a fireplace.
Once again, your words could be my words. My son is a sophomore at a liberal arts school with a music conservatory in Wisconsin instead of Minnesota. He, too, left his northeastern home to travel halfway across the country in pursuit of his dream. His instrument is the French Horn instead of the piano. In every other way you describe, Katrina, our experiences are the same. While I look at his face and still see the adorable, tow-headed 7 year old, he looks in mirror and sees the man he will soon be. My husband and I can hear him growing up, becoming his own person, anxious to learn new things and take on new responsibilities in every phone call home.
So, thanks again for articulating so clearly the life I am living.
BTW, did you ever hear the song “The Hardest Part of Love is the Letting Go” from Children of Eden? It, too, speaks eloquently to the tug we feel.
Wow, Henry! I feel like your family has become a part of mine Katrina! From the moments I got through the first chapter of The Gift of an Ordinary Day, I couldn’t believe how much our families are alike, I too, have to sons, one 13 and 14, my younger son, who when I read your book reminded me so much of Henry! Allergies, Asthma, always in the hospital as an infant with pneumonia, his having to attend and Early intervention school due to his speech delay and his fine motor skills, he is growing out of his shyness slowly, he was diagnosed with JRA as an infant but has outgrown that too along with the allergies. He is slowly coming out of his shell. He has a love for computers and making his own special effects and all that comes with that. My older son, Mr. Academic, outgoing, yet very rebellious like Jack. As I read the pages I feel like I am reading the pages of my own life. All of the struggles, laughter, etc. The fact that we are in the process of moving, and trying to figure out where the best placement for my younger son will be for high school, and figuring out that he will be fine with his brother at his. We have him in a Charter school, and he does well there, not too many students. Enough about my family, I really enjoy going and reading through your book when I need to be picked up or just for inspiration. Thanks for sharing your life and writing such a great book.
This post comes just days after I have spent a sleepless night doing birthday math in my head. My eldest son will turn nine in two weeks. Exactly half of his life under our roof has been completed. How semi-sweet to realize how fast it has gone and how much faster it will begin to go so I will try to “hang out happily” in each present moment!
Katrina, I feel the way that you do. When my son is home I try to savor every moment, and at the same time I am sad because I know that he will be leaving again. The only thing that makes it better is knowing that he is following his passion.
What wonderful words. And at a time in my life when I can really appreciate them. My son will start college this Fall and I hope that your encouragement to “keep things simple in my heart,” and enjoy the Now will allow me to focus on the happy times, not what is being lost.
Oh again I could relate to what you wrote about your son. Mine is far away in Tokyo living with his wife and family. It seems like yesterday he was practicing his piano pieces while I prepared supper. I do miss those days.
I gave your book to my daughter-in-law Tomomi so that she might cherish every day of her childrens young life. It goes by all too fast. I know we can’t stop the changes and the growing apart but I keep a small bit of my little boy tucked inside my heart.
I love, love, love this quote, “Think of mindfulness,” writes Buddhist teacher Sylvia Boorstein, “as hanging out happily.” I know it will help me come back to the miracle that’s available to me in the present.
And I just registered for your talk. I don’t quite understand the format of the “chat” at The Motherhood, but I hope they’ll email me with instructions or you’ll post more information here.
Looking forward to it!
Oh, how I so thoroughly and completely relate! My son, a second year at UVA just got back from India. More worldy, more mature, more distant. If you like, read my blog posts
at P O T A G E R about his experiences and my take. So enjoying your book now!
My son is not a shy teenager. As a matter of fact, he is so out going that sometimes it makes me cringe – like I want my little boy back! I hold onto memories but maybe I also need to let them go. Accept who he has become.
I’d have traded the 82 degree day here in Florida to be back in New Hampshire with all the snow, ice, and cold…just to spend a day listening to Henry play. One of the greatest joys of my life….
Mom
Hi Katrina,
I was half-way through this post when my kid was hanging about the kitchen and vibing openness to talk… so I stopped reading and hung out happily with him, literally discussing the concept of hanging out happy in the moment of just chatting together about life, and meaning and unanswerable questions.
Then I finished reading after he went back to the homework he feels motivated to do, entering back into your world and the memories of snow days that seem both close and far away in the gentle descending evening of February in Los Angeles.
Still, I was struck by the words:
“The trip was his, not ours”… for at some level, if we truly are in this cosmic journey together, we might say that in ego-self terms we are each on our own little trip, but in soul-Self terms, perhaps, we ARE the whole of all the trips—past, future and eternally present.
Here’s to an ever deepening trust in the uniqueness of our experiences and the simultaneous co-mingling of all our reunions, departures, discoveries, sorrows and joys.
Namaste
Hi Katrina,
Once again, you have captured in words a parallel experience! My daughter just returned from her St. Olaf Global Semester and I am experiencing so many of the same things that you are!
I have already made our hotel reservations since we are going to the Christmas Festival at St. Olaf in December and I hope we can meet up then!
A snow day with my 7 yr old here today and you remind me to slow down and savor every minute, for it is ever fleeting. Halfway through the day, I found myself distracted and not 100% ‘here’ because of all the things I could or should be doing – like cleaning the house, folding laundry, etc. I had to pull myself back to the here and now to enjoy the day in pjs, with peanut butter cookies, endless board games, Flintstones reruns and the company of one wonderful little boy who will one day be all grown up. Thank you for the reminder to savor the here and now!
I can’t decide if I dislike you or love you. My children are only 3 and 5 and I read your entries voraciously and I mourn the passage of time and then I get mad at myself for doing that and I remind myself that this is not me, not happening to me-not yet. Then I flop back to loving you again for reminding me of what glorious times, days, moments these simple ordinary days so truly are.
Your writing is so poignant. Always, always well said.
A close friend’s son just returned from his St. Olaf Global Semester in China and Tibet! She shared his e-mails and I am amazed at how easily these young adults leave the comforts of home (and country) and have adventures of a lifetime that we could only dream about.
I was also struck by your picture of Henry at the piano. I, too, feel that the time at home now is nothing more than a visit, as Monica spent last summer working on campus, and is making plans to do the same again this year. Our house fills with a deafening silence when she returns to school, as she is the only one who really plays the piano, and to see Henry there tore at my heartstrings.
They are living their lives and doing what they should be at this stage (and yes, this is yet another stage). I only hope that I have done my job well enough and that my children will thrive as they continue to follow their own paths.
Stay warm and safe in the snow, and enjoy Henry’s week at home!
Beautiful post, Katrina…and I’m still enjoying the beautiful photos of your breathtaking views and have passed them on to friends. My son is ten and I know that each morning he gets in bed with us to warm his feet between our legs could be his last. He’s right in that transition where he’s still our little boy….for now. As I read your post, I’m reminding myself to hang out happily. Blessings to you and your “boys”….hey, they’ll always be your babies 🙂
I read your words with a full heart, listening to your journey with your sons while I travel my own way with my 17 year old son. My heart is full with heartbreak for the loss of my little boy and proud of his coming into his own, growing up and finding his way.
I read your book, The Gift of an Ordinary Day, relishing every page, grateful to hear another woman’s experiences with being a mother to sons…the wonder, the heartbreak and the love. Thank you for sharing your experiences. I look forward to your next book (some encouragement and a hint that another book would be so welcome:).
Oh, I’m sitting here and tears go down my face. My kids are still little but I can feel this amazing love that you have for your son and that seems to be as present as when he was in grade school. It’s overwhelming how much we love our kids and I’m grateful everyday that I get to experience such feelings. Thanks for the post.
The first thing I have to say is that your writing is so incredibly, accurately descriptive that the photo you shared is EXACTLY what I thought your house would look like, after reading Gift.
I share your affinity of snow days. And your sage words, almost delivered from the future, remind me to stop now and watch my two jammy-clad loves making some made-up game on the family room floor, giggling, hanging out happily. xo
timely words for me. i am releasing my grip, finger by finger, on my son who left for his life in Nov. he’s only 2 1/2 hours away. that’s not the point. i still think of spring break, his summer spent here, etc. and though i know in real time this is how it is, i’m still getting splashed in the face with ice water.
Katrina- I read your words with my eyes and feel them deep in my heart. Just moments ago, I had wished for a little break from my kids on this second snow day with them at home. Now I will breathe and treasure every moment. Thanks, Kasey
You put these bittersweet parenting moments into words beautifully, and I felt inspired reading your post. The days slip by so quickly… it’s so easy in the hectic course of the day not to take the time to reflect on the fact that so often the moments we rush through and the moments we should pause and appreciate.
Peace to you all on this snow day, Katrina. We are there, with you, on this journey.
Hi Katrina
Thanks again for reminding me to savor these moments with my children on something as unexpected and precious as a snow day. I sometimes have to resist the urge to be stressed about what I am not able to “accomplish” with them all being home, but again, you remind me not to worry about all that other “stuff” and instead treasure the most profound joy of my life – my kids.
I also like the way you have realized not to make yourself sad by trying to hold onto these fleeting moments. Every parting when our kids leave home is a small part of the grief process. But that process can be lessened if we remember your sage words from this post. As always, I look forward to all of your observations of life. It continues to amaze me how God has given you this gift of being able to put into words what is in so many of our hearts. You are truly a blessing to so many of us!
To hang out happily indeed! I’m learning it’s okay, that there is no place or thing I necessarily HAVE to be doing. How freeing that is.
I am several years away from my daughter leaving home and pursuing her own dreams. But what you describe on your snow day is the difference between doing and being. It’s submerging yourself in the moment instead of anticipating the next.