Thursday 5 May 2016

My son has left home...


 
Nobody prepared me for this. How could they? So much about being a mother is impossible to understand until it happens.

There’s a pulsating hole in my being that keeps morphing into tears. 


There’s no right way to do it: mothering. 
Despite all the books and discussions and studies and predecessors and worry, we all just make it up as we go along. 
I know that. 
But I still wasn’t prepared for this.

My manchild, the beautiful creature whose existence became connected with mine eighteen years ago and changed everything forever, has left home to go to university. His room is empty. And a previously unknown kind of heartache occupies my soul. It’s unfamiliar and frightening, because it’s so vast. It feels interminable.

My son is a man in the world and I am an absent part of his history. His story. I’m an absence that stretches to the end of his life. 
And mine.

But somehow, alongside this absence dwells a new joy.   
A fresh delight washes through me each time I hear his voice. A never-before-experienced contentment settles into that throbbing emptiness when we are together and I can feel how happy he is in his freedom and independence.

It’s not pride.

It’s not relief.

It’s just warmth. 

A whole new kind of mother love.


My son is a man in the world and I am forever present in his history. His story. My mothering is a presence that stretches to the end of my life.
And his.  

16 comments:

  1. Lovely writing Wendy. Our children are such a precious gift, and every milestone reached fills us with both sadness and happiness at the same time. Feeling your heartache (and pride!). Hugs xx

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    1. Thnx... but you have a while to go yet, so forget you read this. Relax and enjoy the ride.

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  2. I love the diversity of your expression. This one feels like you sat down to write it and but then somehow it wrote itself. It's really lovely. And touching. And warm. And present. I do enjoy your comedy, but then apples and pears, you can't compare. That's my two cents. xxx

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    1. too kind... lots of my pieces write themselves...I'd been trying to ignore this one but it busted through...xxx

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  3. Hugs Wendy. I know how it feels and that effing ache never goes away. Yet, as you said, we must take joy from their ability to adjust, enjoy and manage. And feel proud we raised good kids. :) Happy Mother's Day. Now's the time to celebrate yourself. And look forward to the holidays. Mmwah!

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    1. My kids are adopted, so Mothers day always makes me sad... somewhere two other mothers are wondering about the baby they never knew...

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  4. It must be a very bittersweet time for you at the moment Wendy. On the one hand, missing him like mad, and on the other being proud of him and his freedom to be a man in the world :-)

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    1. it's weird, Jude, but he IS a lovely young man... despite me...

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  5. this is such a beautiful and true piece of writing - having experienced it twice it resonated so strongly with me. Humour is great, but sometimes we have to write the truth of the moment and this is so true and strong. I will hold on to your words. And send you love and strength and hugs (to be taken with a nice glass of pinot gris!)

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    1. ...accepted with much gratitude...
      I am glad that you heard truth, because i trust your hearing

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  6. Very true! I found myself wanting to be able to say something to my son, see my son, hug my son a hundred times a day when he first left home. But as I've got to see him grow and find his way, start a family, and become a responsible 27 year old man, I've found we have a new found mutual respect and we both cherish that bond we have always shared more than ever.
    Barbara, blogging at Life & Faith in Caneyhead

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    1. Hi Barbara, thanks for your kind words. I can only hope my relationship with my son heads down the same path. It's been a rocky one sometimes.

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  7. Beautifully written Wendy. Letting your kids go is one of the hardest things to do but it's why we raise them - to hold them back would prevent them from developing to their full potential. And having let all 3 of mine go they have flown. Far and wide but home is always where we are and they come back, often. Usually with a huge bag of washing while at uni!

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    1. LOL... yes, the dirty linen is highly likely to find its way home to me... it's a truism, though, isn't it... we bring them up to be independent and then break our hearts when they are

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  8. Aly in Brisbane10 May 2016 at 10:29

    Lovely piece Wendy and one we can all relate to. Its funny, my girls have each returned home for 6-8 months at various times and I have felt their absence again when they left. And I wondered - does this process of loss end? But I have found it does. Our eldest was living back in our house after returning from a year OS recently, and it was so great but by six weeks I was like, Off you go, Too big to be living with Mummy, catch you for coffee next week sometime. There is a season for every purpose............

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    1. Hi Aly... good to know from one who's more experienced than I that there is an end. Mind you, I could be 80 by then!

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