Major life changes
seem to happen suddenly and dramatically, yet looking back, they were creeping up on me slowly and then one day, some event happens that snaps me back into reality. Today, I experienced a major life change that has been coming for 21 years.
A few minutes ago, my son left home. Alex has left home before. In fact, he left for college two years ago, but this morning, it feels as if he is really gone. Standing on my toes, holding tightly to my little boy, holding back the tears, wondering when did he get so damned tall.
How did he become a man, so quickly, right in front of my eyes.
He seemed so grown up as he responsibly packed his belongings into the car. That was always my job. I was always the one that had to nag him endlessly to get out of bed. I was the one that had to scour the house for all the things he had scattered around. I was the one that was responsible, for him.
As I watch his car drive up the driveway, on his way back to Montana, to his third year of college, I suddenly feel so old and alone.
How many times had we driven off, together? So many times! We were inseparable, my boy and me. Yet now, I watch him drive away and he's not coming back. I feel loneliness unlike any I have ever felt before, a deeper more permanent loneliness. I sense this is one of those sudden moments that I will always remember, one of those moments that will mark a major life change. Somehow, I know, I just know that life will never be the same again. This chapter is over.
Honor student - clean cut, responsible, loving and caring, I couldn't be more proud of my son, and happy, for him. So many years of endless worry and sleepless nights, bailing him out, protecting him, tied to the hip, best friends, yet this morning I watch my little boy as he drives away, a man. A turning point? So many mixed feelings. My instinct is to run down the road, chase him down, hold him and stop time. Yet, it's time, probably later than it should have been - it's time to let him go.
Funny, in our culture, men are rarely associated with 'empty nest syndrome,' yet here I sit, crying, as I release my hold, on my boy. He has been my world. He has been my life. Of course, my intellect assures me that he is not gone, that our relationship is just changing, but my heart fails to grasp the logic of this mental argument.
With any loss, there is always an opening, for something new. How do I fill this hole, this emptiness? Guess an inventory might help. I've always made an inventory, when undergoing a major life change - take stock of what I have left to work with and build from where I am. As I sit, numb, it feels as if there is nothing on the list to work with.
The world seems different this morning. It feels cold and empty. I feel as if a part of me is missing. A big part of me, IS missing.
I go about doing what it is that I do, yet it feels as if someone else is doing it. What happened to me? When did I lose myself? I guess it is natural to lose sight of yourself when you focus your life on the needs of another, for so long it becomes a habit. "I'll take care of me, later, after _______" ... it's always something. Good or bad - doesn't really matter, it's still a loss - a major loss. When did I forget to be me and become us? How do I become me, again?
My mind wants an answer, a solution, now! Guess being a guy, that's my nature. I sense there will be no quick-fix to this dilemna. This is going to be one of those long growth things ... God, I hate those, but they always seem, when looking back after all the pain of the change, to be the deepest and most meaningful.
Tonight, perhaps even this afternoon, my cell phone will ring. I know he'll call - he always does, yet it's never the same, talking on a phone.
'Hey Pops, how ya doin? The weather's fine - the road is clear - we're having a blast, chomping on some burgers and running down the road, just like WE used to.
I miss ya Pops. I mean, I really MISS you Pops."
He's gone and this time, it feels so permanent, as it should be, as it has been for thousands of years for millions of parents and millions of children, grown. I try and reassure him that it's OK., that we'll make many more memories, great memories, but I know, inside, that they will never be the same.
My boy is living his life, making decisions, embarking on his grand adventure. Maybe that has something to do with my feeling so old - the memories of a boy, his dad, as he excitedly drove away, free at last, to begin decades of adventures - to live his life. And those decades are just memories now, some fond and many I'd just as well forget.
Oh sure, there will be more memories, good memories from grand new adventures, yet my mind can't help to flash to images of me, riding quietly in the back of their car, with the grandkids, as they politely put up with grandpa, dealing with me, just like I dealt with him, like a child. This is the way it is and always has been. Better get used to it.
No, I sense life will never be the same again, as it should be. Just wish it didn't hurt so bad.
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