I wish you two things...to give you roots, to give you wings. The first time I heard that was on an episode of Designing Women. I don't remember the specifics, but Suzanne, a childless woman, had to let go of a little girl who had been in her care for a short period of time. She was so broken hearted, she loved that child so dearly, that she struggled to release the little one she adored.
I remember watching that episode and that quote buried itself in my heart and my mind. It's been there for a very long time. Right now seems a most appropriate time to dust it off and talk about it, because my social media and my own heart is full of parents letting go of their little ones, be it kindergarten or college. The releasing looks simultaneously beautiful and excruciating. Bitter and Sweet. Roots and Wings.
Of course, never having children, I'm somewhat of an expert on having children. (Sarcasm font, folks.) But I do have kids that I feel my soul has deep and abiding ties to, so I'm going to dive in to this. Feel free to tell me what I get wrong.
Deep breath... having children is an incredibly selfish act. Now hear me out. There is no truly, entirely altruistic reason to have a child. You can hope they make the world a better place, but that's not a reason to have a baby. The way I see it, the entire reason boils down to leaving a piece of you here when you go and making a person you love and who loves you with a depth and breadth one cannot put into words. Having children is about loving and being loved, ultimately.
Now raising children, that's an entirely selfless act. It's a sacrifice from the jump (pardon the pun). From the very beginning they literally take a piece of you and keep it for themselves. Then there is the woman sacrificing her body. Then when the little bitty arrives, it's giving up sleep and time and bits of yourself , your goals, your snacks and your money, and on and on and on. Little by little, it's less of some and more of others - less giving up sleep, more giving up money. Less wiping noses and bottoms and more ferrying them around and re-learning fractions. The entire time you are doing this, the truly selfless thing is, you are teaching them to leave you. You are making them more independent by the day. All the reminders you give them and all the lessons you teach them when they are young turn into the knowing how to as they grow up. You are giving them to the world every single minute, a drop at a time.
Then one day, there they go, and you have to encourage and cheerlead and make the lists of the things they need to do and know and the things they need to have, and then you begin to check those things off. One thing at a time, you get closer to letting them go. How counter-intuitive that must feel. You've spent days and nights for years keeping them safe, making sure they are where they are supposed to be and then one day, you don't have to do that, you don't need to do it, you're no longer allowed to do it, because you've done your job well and now you have to trust what you've created to start making their own way out in the world.
Of course, you're never really, entirely done. I still ask my mom how to cook certain things, how to navigate new experiences. I still ask; I still need from her. But, I mostly move through the life I've created, filling her in and sending her pictures of the little family we've created. She's a supporting role, sometimes a guest star in the life of a person she made entirely out of nothing.
The selflessness of the act of raising a child, born out of the selfishness of wanting one is in a word...miraculous.
My niece, Sydnee, is moving into her dorm today. Nine hundred twenty-eight miles away from the world she knows, from the life her parents made for her. Her parents are there with her right now, preparing for the 30 minute window of time they are allowed to carry her things, put them down, hold her close and then let her go. The weight of that, to me as simply her aunt, is almost crushing. The pride is equally so. I cannot imagine how her mom and dad and brothers feel. They are the ones who will miss the physical presence of her; the everyday sounds and smells and sights. The shoes and the laughter and the door slamming. The piles of laundry and dance uniforms. The space she takes up in their home will be vacant, and the space in their hearts will ache for her.
But, they'll live new experience through her texts and calls and facetimes. They'll visit and see the life she's making, the life they sacrificed for her to begin. They'll watch as their grown up baby grows even more as a person, and they are the ones who started it all.
We should have known when she was a baby, when she didn't want to be rocked to sleep, when she would fling her arms wide as you put her in her crib that she was already dreaming of spreading those wings.
Today, at 2 p.m., perhaps as you are reading this, they'll begin to open, entirely, with uncertainty, with some reservations, with definite fear... but they will stretch wide and her feet will leave the ground, will leave the familiar. She'll look back over her shoulder and see her parents proud and sad faces and feel those incredibly strong roots giving her all she needs to begin to learn to soar on her own. She'll know the wings are strong but so are the roots. She'll know that both will always show her where home is. One will carry her there and the other will hold her place for her as she flies. And at 2 p.m. CST, her mom and dad will let her go. They will sacrifice again. Willingly, gratefully with hearts that are full yet slightly broken. Bitter and sweet. Roots and wings.
To all the moms and dads going through this, whether it's kindergarten, high school or college, the military, or moving out...well done. I hope they squeeze you a little longer before you let them go.
And to Sydnee... I love you mosterest. Bigger than the ocean.
No comments:
Post a Comment