I’ve sometimes wondered if I’ll spend the rest of my life missing my sons as the little boys they used to be.
Even now, though it’s been years since I reminded anyone to look both ways, the sight of a mom crossing the street hand-in-hand with a little guy with sleep-tufted hair and rolled up jeans fills my eyes with sudden, unbidden tears.
Arriving at an elementary school to give a talk one morning not long ago, watching parents bending low to kiss their children good-bye, observing the sea of bobbing backpacks, the bright art on the walls, the exuberance of six-year-olds beginning their day, I was so overcome with emotion that I had to slip back out to my car for a few minutes and compose myself. Still, standing up at the podium in that room full of young mothers, I wasn’t quite sure I could trust my voice.
“Do you know,” I wanted to say to them, “how quickly this will all be over? Do you realize just how sweet and rich your lives are right now? How fleeting?”
Of course, this is what older people have been saying to younger ones since time began. And no one wants to hear it.
Busy, distracted, wondering how to transport the kids from point A to point B and pick up some food for dinner and get the homework done without too much of a fuss, an over-stretched, over-tired parent isn’t worrying about the end of childhood so much as how to survive the hours between 3:00 and bedtime. I know that. I’ve been that mom, too.
But it’s been a while since we had two boys still living at home full time, and what I’m most aware of now is not how endlessly long those days could be, but how quickly those years flew by. Adjusting to my new empty-nest reality, after over two decades of 24/7 mothering, has been a slow, bittersweet process.
At times my nostalgia for our family life as it used to be – for our own imperfect, cherished, irretrievable past – is overwhelming. The life my husband and children and I had together, cast now in the golden light of memory, seems unbearably precious; what lies ahead, darker and lonelier and less certain.
When I first wrote those words, just two years ago, I couldn’t imagine ever feeling differently. Even as my days slowly filled with new joys and occupations, I felt as if I also lived in the shadow of that darker, lonelier future. With both my sons grown and gone, I wondered if any as-yet-unwritten life chapter could ever feel quite as right, quite as challenging and fulfilling, as those years of intense, day-in-day-out togetherness.
It is such a raw and relentless business, motherhood. There is the constant physical engagement, at once exhilarating and exhausting. But there is also the vehement, insistent emotion; the frightening, thrilling ferocity of our love for these souls we’ve delivered into the world.
How many times was I brought to my knees by the visceral intimacy of tears and blood and poop, fevers and sweats and strange skin rashes, sibling battles and wild nightmares and crazy, irrational fears? And then, within the same hour sometimes, I would be lifted right up again, exalted and turned inside out by the accidental, extravagant grace of wild laughter or a whoop of glee, a whispered confession, a cuddle, an imponderable question, a kiss delivered to an elbow or a knee (why there??), some random joke without a punch-line that made us all giggle anyway. When all of that ended, when first one son and then the other had the audacity to grow up and leave the nest, I was sure our family life would never again be quite as good.
Last weekend, both our boys were home. We still had about three feet of snow on the ground and not much on the agenda – a lot of March Madness basketball on the TV, a couple of family dinners, unplanned hours. I made chicken potpie from scratch. Jack (a skilled body worker after three years of interning at a studio in Boston) offered to get me up on the massage table and work on my stiff muscles. For an hour he patiently stretched and manipulated my arms, neck, and shoulders, with extraordinary sensitivity and attentiveness.
On Sunday morning we went to church and listened to Henry play the organ. As the light poured in through the tall windows, as the choir sang the Palm Sunday anthem he’d chosen and rehearsed with them, I was flooded with memories of our son as a little boy straining to reach the foot pedals, practicing hymns on our old upright piano in the living room. The tears that sprang to my eyes then weren’t tears of longing for what was, but of gratitude for all that’s come to be.
The journey between dreaming and becoming, between childhood and adulthood, doesn’t end, of course, when the kids head off for school or leave home or embark on careers or marriages. It is ongoing, full of twists and turns, detours and disappointments, surprises and sudden revelations.
Who knew that what seemed like a catastrophic loss for one son – freshman year of college missed, two broken vertebrae and constant, chronic pain – would inspire this strong-willed boy who once fantasized about being a tennis star to become a compassionate healer instead? And how could we have ever imagined that the shy, dreamy child who seemed almost too frail for this world at times, would one day grow up to be a competent, self-assured music director, perfectly at ease performing in front of a congregation and coaching singers four times his age?
In the afternoon last Sunday, between basketball games and my marathon in the kitchen, Steve and the boys and I all put on our boots and took a walk, our favorite loop through the woods. Gracie trotted ahead, glancing back every few steps as if she couldn’t quite believe her good fortune. For a border collie, heaven is having your entire herd in the same place at the same time – ideally, out in the woods and sticking close together.
I knew how she felt. I was happy, too.
In fact, as we tramped along the path it suddenly occurred to me, for the very first time, that I wouldn’t turn the clock back now even if I could. Not for one hour, not for one day, or for one year or ten. Not for anything.
It hit me with the power of epiphany: this sudden, unexpected end to the nostalgic longing I’ve carried like a bruise upon my heart for so long that I’ve nearly forgotten what true ease in the here and now feels like.
Who we are, what we are, where we are at this moment is different from what was, absolutely. But it is in no way less than. And the surprising truth is, I wouldn’t trade our family’s beautiful, complicated, ever shifting and fleeting present for any simpler golden-hued yesterday.
Instead, I am pausing each day of this Easter week and giving thanks for what is, right now. I am grateful for who we are in this moment: four still-growing human beings, each of us irrevocably, mysteriously, wonderfully connected. Each of us finding our own unique way to be in the world, and at the same time, each of us gratefully returning to this hallowed place of our own creation: this piece of earth, this house, this dinner table, this history, this tangled web of us-ness. Yes, we are each still and always unfinished parts of some greater, unknowable whole. And yes, we are still and always something else, too. We are family.
BIG Magical Journey News (and some Mother’s Day inspiration. . .)
I imagine Cheryl Strayed has gotten used to the accolades by now. But for ME a rave in PEOPLE magazine is, well, a big deal. Was I pleased to find this link in my in-box this morning, under the heading “Memoirs We Can’t Put Down”? That would be an understatement!
Maria Shriver is a role model for many of us, and her Architects of Change website is a treasure trove of inspiration, support, and wisdom. So it’s a huge honor for me to be listed now among her “guides,” and especially to be featured by her this week. Thank you, Maria! You can read my essay HERE.
Power of Moms is, quite simply, an amazing website. Described as “a gathering place for deliberate mothers,” it’s part hang-out, part retreat, part educational resource — and an altogether very friendly, helpful place to be. I had such a great time talking with founder April Perry that I nearly forgot we were recording a podcast; it was more like talking with a lively, like-minded friend. Relax, take a few minutes with a cup of tea, and listen in HERE.
Appearances
It seems to me that the best book conversations (well, the best conversations in general) are the ones that take place over a good meal. So my writing buddy Margaret Roach and I are both looking forward to reuniting at a luncheon hosted by The Hickory Stick Bookshop in Washington Depot, CT, on Friday, April 19 at noon. For the price of a book, you will get a catered lunch, a reading, and time to chat with the two of us too! Call the store at (860) 868-0525 for more info and to reserve your place.
I first “met” Priscilla Warner right here last June, when she left a comment on a blog post I’d written. I immediately read her wonderful memoir Learning to Breathe, she read my manuscript of Magical Journey and encouraged me through every step of the final revision, and pretty soon it felt as if we’d been friends forever — even though we STILL haven’t ever laid eyes on each other. That will change next month, when I go to Larchmont, NY, to speak at the Public Library on Sunday, April 19, at 3:30 — an event Priscilla helped organize, in part, so I can finally come visit her.
Other spring-time journeys:
Margaret and I are doing our very last bookstore “duet” at the Concord Bookshop on Sunday, April 28, at 3. (Think daffodils, home made cookies, and wide-ranging conversation– everything from the thorny questions of midlife to composting secrets revealed!)
I’ll be back at Ann Patchett’s beautiful Nashville bookstore Parnassus on Thursday, May 2, at 7 pm.
And from Nashville, I’ll go straight to Minneapolis for my final two readings this spring: The annual Motherhood and Words talk at the Loft Literary Center on Saturday, May 4 and, finally, to cap it all off, a reading at Common Good Books, Garrison Keillor’s beloved bookstore in downtown St. Paul on Monday, May 6. Minneapolis friends, St. Olaf connections, Twin Cities readers, I want to see you all there!
Housekeeping . . .
MOTHER’S DAY isn’t far off. Yesterday, I signed and personalized 24 (!) copies of The Gift of an Ordinary Day for readers who’d ordered them from my local bookstore, The Toadstool, here in Peterborough, NH. I asked Willard, the owner, if he’d be willing to gift-wrap books as Mother’s Day gifts, and he said “Sure.” That’s right. Now, you can order personalized, signed copies of ANY of my books just by clicking HERE. This will bring you to an order form at the Toadstool’s website. Leave a note with your order, letting us know if you want your books personalized and/or gift-wrapped. I’ll sign them, we’ll wrap them beautifully, and we’ll get them right off to you or to the special moms in your life.
I’ve loved hearing from so many of you! Your letters never fail to make my day — they remind me all over again how lucky we all are, to be part of a community of readers, seekers, thinkers, nurturers. If you feel inclined to write a bit MORE, however, each and every reader review on Goodreads and on Amazon is hugely appreciated (by me!) and helpful. (Doesn’t have to be long, just kind and, preferably, enthusiastic!)
Thanks too, my dear friends, for continuing to share my video with others, for inviting folks to “like” my Magical Journey Facebook page, and for sharing my blog posts on your own Facebook pages and Twitter feeds. There is no denying the power of word of mouth!
This has to be the most beautiful description I have ever read, of coming to terms with the transition from active duty mothering to mothering young adults. I struggle almost daily to avoid slipping into a nostalgia that keeps me locked in my past and eviscerates the present. My three sons also had the “audacity” to grow up and out, beards and all. Thank you Katrina for this beautifully crafted essay. I will read it again on Mother’s Day as I make my way out in the world, looking both ways for myself.
Oh, Katrina. Wow. As you know my heart carries that same bruise, deep, aching, and it gives me more solace and hope than you can imagine that you feel this way now. And by the way, accidental, extravagant grace: yes. Yes, yes, yes. xox
I commented on facebook today because I read the excerpt from Magical Journey and I was moved deeply. To read this now, I’m a bit at a loss for words. I have 2 young sons, 4 and 8 and we are often, more often than not, lost in the daily shuffle and just try to get through the day only to start it all again the next day. Somehow reading your words here have helped me put in our life in perspective. And helped me recognize that, while exhausting, this life we have is beautiful, fleeting, messy and chaotic and I wouldn’t trade it either. If I can honor it’s place in our lives, realize the stuff that’s not as pleasant won’t last and enjoy it for what it is, for the sacrifices, the joys, the trade-offs, then perhaps I will feel the peace I seek. And that is a beautiful think indeed. Thank you.
Katrina, this is too beautiful for words. I sit here with tears in my eyes, knowing. And my son is only 3.
I often have mothers tell me that I need to cherish these moments, and I DO. I DO. I don’t mind when they tell me, either, because we all need reminders to stop and pay attention to the now.
Thank you for this.
As ever, reading your reflections on what was and what is helps me to plant my own feet more firmly and gratefully in the present. So, this rainy afternoon in Maine, I’m going to leave the house as it is, and make my boys some hot chocolate instead. I know that someday (if I’m very lucky!) I’ll go through the same sorrowful passage you are now coming out of. But, because of your writing, I have watched a sort of virtual big sister pass through unscathed. I’ll come back to Magical Journey again, when they’re older. Thank you much.
My guys are now 8 and 11. Last summer we all took a road trip to the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone, and I said to my husband, “These are the golden years.” I love, love, love their ages. Infants and toddlers? Those were stressful years for me. I finally feel like I am hitting my stride as a mom (took me long enough).
Beautiful post, Katrina.
{And I love that you are mentioned in People – kudos!!}.
Thank you so very much. Your post was exactly what I needed today. Feeling stuck and worried about my next phase of life after raising children. I’m not alone … that is a great feeling! xo
This was so beautiful and brought tears to my eyes….My son is only 11 years old and I am constantly finding myself mourning the days when he was younger.I can only imagine what I will be like when he is a teenager and older if I am like this now…
Once again, you captured with your beautifully written words the very essence of what I have been and continue to feel. I am thankful for this Holy Easter week in that it has brought by children back in, together, even if for just a few days. I so much long for the chaotic days past but am trying with all my might to enjoy this new chapter. Thank you for giving me hope…and for Magical Journey!!! Enjoy!!!!
Once again, Katrina, it’s as if you have crawled into my innermost thoughts and eloquently expressed them.
The waves of nostalgia are powerful, and one thing I fear as I try to live in the “now” is that all too soon, the “now” will become part of the “then” – and that as much as I try to be present, I am so aware of how quickly that will occur.
At times it seems that the landscape is changing on a daily basis, and I want to savor each and every fleeting moment that I am blessed with. As much as I am grateful for all of the past stages and look forward to what’s yet to be, I can’t help but feel a sadness over the changes that keep greeting me at every turn. The bruise on my heart is still fresh, I am hoping that I can take comfort in your words and that there will be a time of peace and acceptance of the way things are meant to be.
Easter blessings!
Thank you for this beautiful and compassionate post! I love hearing about the magic your boys are creating and that family keeps changing but also staying so constant and full of love. I also LOVE the photo!! They are all so handsome.
Your life cycles always seem to hit me at the right moment. When my children went off to college, I had one year by myself. I didn’t know what to do with all my free time. Both of my kids ended up taking a semester off for various reasons. One has now graduated and is back, living at home. The other transferred to a college close to home so he occasionally comes home on weekends. I am in my glory, and realize how grateful I am to have them here. We are entering a new phase- Adult children and Parents…
Congrats on your People mention! And beautiful post! I’ve been so achy inside as my last child gets on the kindergarten bus each day and rides away from me. But the other day, for the first time, I felt a lift as I walked back home. I had things to do, things to look forward to. It was the feeling that life was changing and it was still going to be good.
In the midst of boyhood here I sometimes ponder the future and how sad I will be, how quickly it passes, and will I feel regrets and sadness? My boys are my life. I appreciate this post so much because I always feel like I am not grateful enough being bombarded with thoughts that you must enjoy this now. I do very much enjoy it but with 5 boys it’s also a lot of work and some days I feel like I would enjoy it on a little more sleep 🙂 Truly though I appreciate knowing you have come to peace with what is rather than what was…sure baby photos and seeing moms and their little ones will always bring back those pangs but I too want to feel like knowing more of their stories and journey will be so fulfilling that I wouldn’t want to trade it for anything. Thank you once again for your poignant thoughts…
Wonderful to know that you are getting much recognition for your way with words. Technology is magical in thinking Maria Shriver would actually ever read something I wrote on her blog so thank you for including link. Best wishes for a blessed Easter.
I’m still waffling a little between the “teary eyed” and the “no longer looking back”. Reading this beautifully penned piece Katrina, makes me realize that there is life on the other side of this “fence” I’m on. Thank you for sharing these thoughts.
It’s such a treat to be invited in to your evolving world, Katrina. What a gift.
It’s funny that as I read this, my main reaction is worry that I will not get to the place to appreciate the here and now and not regret what I couldn’t do for my children. My health journey continues to consume so much of my attention. I aspire to be present and hope that ability increases as I heal, but fear nags in. I have to keep replaying your words: Choose love.
Thank you for all you share.
tears of gratitude flowing. heart expanding with gratitude. soul feeling recognized. thank you, katrina, for wrapping poetic words around the profound mystery of our spiritual lives, capturing its essence with beauty, truth and grace. love to you and your beloveds.
Katrina,
You expressed in such a lovely way where I am trying to live–in the present. There are times with my very difficult teen that I yearn for the next three years to be over…and then I think about all that I’d miss even in the challenging daily life I have right now, and I don’t want to rush through it.
This is wonderful! I carry that “bruise upon my heart”, too, and it can be so painful. I have 4 kids ages 19 to 10 and still am very much in the 24/7 trenches, yet miss the early days of mothering sometimes, so much.
This may be my favorite post of all time Katrina. I love this and am happy for you, and hope this peace lasts. You are a beautiful writer.
So grateful to know that “my spiritual life guide” has come to a place of happiness for the now, it gives me great hope that when the time comes I will too.
My favorite post yet. And I love every thing you write. This was sublime. Thank you for giving such a beautiful, articulate voice to all of our collective feelings. It was such a joy to meet you in person in Laguna Beach. Thank you for chatting with my mom and sister and me the morning after you didn’t make the first scheduled reading. It was my good fortune that things worked out the way they did so I could meet one of my all time favorite writers.
Where are we now?
Where are we now?
The moment you know.
You know, you know.
As long as there’s sun.
As long as there’s sun.
As long as there’s rain.
As long as there’s rain.
As long as there’s fire.
As long as there’s fire.
As long as there’s me.
As long as there’s you.
David Bowie
Katrina, I love all of your posts, but this one is extra special! It’s like everything you’ve been writing about led to that moment of clarity and epiphany! Wow! And a big Wow about People magazine, too! So exciting!! XO
Katrina, I am SO glad to hear you moving on from nostalgia–I was starting to worry that you were going to be “circling the drain” for far too long…
I have read and treasured both “Ordinary Day” and “Magical Journey,” and have given over ten copies of both to friends and family. As a mother of a 16 year old boy (and 14 year old girl) I look to your writing for inspiration when the reality of their growing up smacks me right in the head. I also struggle with the “who am I going to be now?” question, while berating myself at the same time for being so sentimental. Geez! What a gift your writings have been–and what a relief to hear you starting to re-imagine your future. Best wishes to you and yours…
This had me in tears. I want to be where you are, where you can let go of the longing and just inhale the moment. But it’s always there for me, the wish for a little hand that always reaches for mine.
This was stunning.
Katrina, I’ve read and re-read The Gift of an Ordinary Day several times, starting with my book group about a year ago. This week seemed timely to remind my friends to read your book. We are about to start school vacation week here in Boston, and many of us are caught up in the swirl of traveling or staying put. A recent conversation with a friend revealed that she felt down about not going anywhere this week. Your book is the perfect reminder to look for the silver lining in every day. Thank you for writing such an inspiring memoir!
This could have been written for me today; someone I met at a party recently put me onto your website and it has taken me til now to get to it but today, of all days, I find myself here, tears pouring down my face as I struggle to manage the old ‘head versus heart’ dilemma I’m in as my oldest child has succeeded in edging ever closer to his career dream. I’m thrilled for him and yet I, like you, long for days gone by – I take comfort that this too will pass, and that I will not always feel so sad at him growing up but will delight in how much we still have to come. Thank you for sharing so honestly what so many of us would struggle to vocalise, I know the website I will be coming it over the next weeks and months
Katrina, I have read and re-read all of your books. I have sent copies to my nieces when they became new mothers and have given copies or recommended your books to friends. I think of you as a confidante and a friend. Whenever I need you, there you are. God bless you. Your article about Mother’s Day is simply touching. My children were little when I began reading Mitten Strings for God, a book I saw in my local Barnes & Noble, which I could not put down.
My daughter will be getting married this year, and my son now has a partner and is a home owner. Over the past year, I have been frustrated and angry, sad and anxious. Then my son called me to tell me that his partner’s grandmother had passed away from Covid. It changed the way I look at life. It made me realize the preciousness of every moment of every day. Mother’s Day for me will be one of gratitude for all the blessings that I have. One of those blessings is having you in my life as well. Thank you for being there for us all.