Being a mom, a daughter, a sister – there are so many labels I carry, we all carry, that is wont to pull me in different directions. And with every single day that dawns, I try to ease into each role, one at a time, or all at once. For very seldom are we asked to be one in the exclusion of the others. But the most rewarding and the most challenging role is that of being a mother. Especially one whose carefully built nest falls silent when the children leave home.
Each year in September I feel a tenderness in my heart, the same one I felt years ago when I left home to travel to foreign lands and begin my life as a student. It was a heartbreak, the first of its kind that I came to know and many of it that will become my constant friends. It was loss and excitement at the same time. Loss of my home, my family, my known way of life, knowing fully well that I could not go back for the breaks like my fellow students, aware that my breaks would be filled with wandering in an empty library and writing letters that would one day reach home. Knowing that being a foreign student in a foreign land would be hard, cold and lonely. And it was all that, and so much more. I met people who made me laugh, people who invited me into their homes and hearts, people whose kindness knew no boundaries and ones who became family for the rest of my life.
Many many years later, on another September, I felt a similar pain in my heartspace, another heartbreak. This time when my daughter left for college. Only this time, I was the mother, letting go of her child. There was no room for grief, as the frenzy of preparation and departure heightened each day and as we drove away, and I could still see her waving from her dorm entrance my heart broke into a million pieces.
Then two years later, my son left. Once again, the preparations and packing and once again goodbyes and holding him, just that one more hug, that one more “take care”. Just once, just once more. Again, no space to let the tears fall.
The tears did fall though, after the goodbyes. Back in the now silent house, where there was so much life before. A house now devoid of all the chaos, and shoes, and dirty laundry and laughs and fights. How I yearned for all that, for all of that to come back. Please, please, please come back. I promise to never complain, I promise to never yell!!
And that was all 10 years ago. And since then, I have moved countries, sold our home, trying to swim these waters which still seem so foreign and so unknown. Again tears shed for a lifetime that has gone by, slamming doors and betrayals and divorce. And still, every time my now adult children come, my heart sings and every time they leave, my heart breaks. Just once more. I guess that is what being a mother is. It is about always holding the children very close to my own heart. And sometimes, that closeness hurts.
September comes each year with this renewed memory of what was, and I have to also remind myself of how blessed I am. Grateful that I can carry all the roles within me, grateful for the capacity to embrace, grateful that I have had the chance to have two beautiful children to cherish and love. Grateful because not everyone is fortunate to be a mom, even if they wish for it. And for so of us out there are so many goodbyes that are final, with no more returning.
So I am still trying to figure this all out. Still a little uncertain, still making mistakes and still shaking every time my children leave. Holding on to their hands a little longer, memorizing the shape of their smiles. Waving, waving, praying for their safety. Yes, being a mom is the hardest role of all. And I am still trying.
Photo by John Diez on pexels.
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