Tomorrow is it. Troy is going to walk across that stage, pick up his diploma, and start the rest of his life. Which makes me the mother of an adult. Over the past couple of weeks I keep asking myself...how did this happen? Up until today, I've been able to mostly keep my emotions at bay. As soon as I find myself reflecting on the occasion, I stuff it down...but it's always there, always on the verge of spilling over at the most inconvenient moments.
At the same time, I've surprised myself. I made it through the parent appreciation dinner with no tears (no thanks to Pa Jones), the Sr. award ceremony...even the Baccalaureate, with only the warmest of feelings, lots of laughter and good conversation...in the company of great friends, just like us, going through the same milestone. I don't know how. Living in denial, I think. Not really reaching out to touch what was happening around me. I couldn't get too close.
Then Tuesday I woke up and took a look at the sky and the weather forecast. We still needed pictures of Troy for his graduation announcement (yes, I just barely got those out in the mail, sorry) and we finally had a break in the weather AND the calendar. After work, we piled the family in the van, stopped at Family Mart for some Onigiri and headed out to Toguchi Beach. We put Troy through a multitude of poses, only to choose the very first one I took. (That's usually how I roll.) He looked so wonderful...so grown up...so TALL!
We needed to stop at the BX for something quick on the way home. None of the kids wanted to go in, so it was just Cliff and I. As we were leaving the register, we heard powerful shrieking and turned to see a couple with a two year old boy having a full-blown tantrum. It nearly took my breath away. This boy sounded and acted just like Troy at that age. The couple was even acting like we might have (trying to suppress their laughter while dragging his dead-weight out of the store). As the realization was hitting me, Cliff said, "Wow, he sounded JUST like Troy!" I could barely respond, "I know" as I sucked it up HARD, afraid that someone might summon security to attend to the crazy lady bawling down the escalator.
I was thinking about it all the way out to the car. In my head, I screamed..."I THOUGHT I'D HAVE MORE TIME!" Just yesterday, that was us. It seemed like we'd be doing this forever...and at the time, I don't think we thought that was a good thing...it was more like, "How are we going to do this for the rest of our lives?" as we are dragging a shrieking kid out of Wal*Mart. But oh, how I would love to go back and pick up my screaming toddler and kiss his big cheeks and look him in the eyes and hold his face and say, "Do you have any idea how much I love you? Do you know how lucky I feel to be your mom?"
"Why is this so hard? I shouldn't be feeling sad. Would I rather he not be graduating?" I posed these questions to some lovely ladies over lunch the next day. Then I told them the story about the sobbing tantrum-thrower in the BX (and the shrieking child). They each have young children, and they knowingly laughed at the thought of me pining for the howling two year old vs. the incredibly smart, accomplished, handsome young man I am about to launch into the world after years of investment. Which made me laugh, too. It is ridiculous when you think about it. This has been the goal...or at least the first of many.
Then why did I wake up in a panic this morning? I can no longer pretend this is far in the future. It's tomorrow, and it will come whether I'm ready or not. I am overflowing with pride, and so grateful to be the mother of Troy Stuart. We've been through a lot together, and I hope he knows how much I love him. I hope he remembers the hugs and kisses, the bedtime stories, the driving through multiple drive-thrus to get just the Star Wars toy he was looking for...and the endless chauffeuring. I hope he forgets the times I told him to quit driving me crazy; my frustration when it seemed every day he was making up a new set of rules to a game which only he knew; my lack of enthusiasm for reading the same ten books over and over and over; and all the other times I fell short as a mom.
As I'm watching him cross that stage tomorrow, through the tears that I am certain will come, I will be reflecting on the triumphs. I'll be thinking about the months of bed rest to get him here safely; the early intervention which helped him to journey from a four year old we didn't know if we'd ever have a conversation with...to the mature young man whose insight astounds me; the years of being told we should steer clear of teams and focus on non-competitive sports...to the boys and coach who embraced him and told him they'd teach him everything he needed to know about football; the worries about "socialization" to the young man voted "kindest" in his class.
I am sure I will survive tomorrow. I have the confidence I've gleaned in watching other mothers come before me. I just really had no idea it would be this hard.
5 comments:
You say that you thought there would be more time. In fact, there is more time, and even we don't know how much of that precious commodity remains, we . . . you, Troy and I . . . have it to spend as we wish. The large majority of human kind let it flow through fingers like black sand in a tourist's hand . . . wallowing in ordinary ruts and moments. Believe me, I know something about this.
In your case, time is now about to elevate its meaningfulness from the ordinary to the extraordinary! Most moms get their children from birth to graduation . . . some fail, but you didn't. Most don't fail up to that point. Now, however, look where you are headed. Troy is prepared for a wonderful life, a life that ole George Bailey would envy. You and your eldest son are poised on the threshold of extraordinary passages of time that most will never know!
Each year, only 25,000 or so families send missionaries out into the world, or Ogden . . . whatever, to knock out their best two years. What percent of the masses is that? Pretty small. After that, what will Troy do? Answer is anything he wants . . . truly anything he wants. He has been equipped for that. MOST others will bump around a McD's or a bike shop for a while before settling for a job with a first name on their shirt. That's ordinary, average. Same clock ticking, but with hugely different expectations.
I am ashamed to admit that the reason I might be quick to take this approach in a desire to mitigate your feelings of sadness, is that I can't remember ever feeling them myself. I envy the fact that you feel these things at all. So I am able to point at logic, however relevant it might be, because I just don't savvy how you really feel.
You ask why it is so hard? The list of extraordinary reasons is a long as an Imperial Valley well rope, and includes the veracity, tenacity . . . even ferociousness with which you engaged both marriage and parenthood. Add in a difficult birth, a diagnosis out of the blue, travel, deployments - it is no wonder you feel like your arm has been cut off.
It is supposed to be hard . . . I read that somewhere. You also have as much time today as you had yesterday. So do I. I am trying to grasp at the sand before it is gone. I love you! I love you all! Dad
BTW, nice new look. It fits your growing appreciation of Okinawa.
Dad...thanks so much for your words...I appreciate the time you put into them...and you are right. I guess I just never thought about the fact that our family life under one roof would be such a small portion of that time. I am so excited to see where life takes him, though...where it takes all of them. But you are right, my feelings probably have something to do also with the white-knuckle ride this has been at times. So if that's what makes this sweeter, then bring it!
(LOL...Ogden!)
Thanks...I like the nice clean look, too. I wish the header and opening text were a little fancier, but I love that picture I took and that was the most important thing to me, so it'll do.
I love you, too!
Hi Carrie,
As always, thanks for providing food for thought. I'm a few years behind you but yet next week, AJ turns 10 and then I turn and see Anna who's on her way to 1st grade. No more, preschool and pure innocence. And yes, I'm crying as I write this. Just today, I said to myself, "I'm going to enjoy my time w/them this summer."
Hope to see you next month.
Love,
Lisa
Thanks for the good morning cry, Carrie. Maybe I'll have more patience with my little ones today with this perspective.
What a beautiful tribute Carrie! I completely remember those feelings when each if mine first left. But I am here to tell you from experience that the good times have just begun! Oh what a treat you have ahead. :)
Love you.
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