Weighty things have been on my mind.
I find myself worrying about William on particularly steamy evenings.
I find myself wondering if my new girlfriend will show up on my doorstep again. Though I know she must be telling her coworkers that this is a friendly neighborhood, because I've seen quite a few in here lately, bumming rides, work, money, telephone calls.
I find myself worrying about funds and the stress of that worrying making it's mark on my face. To the extent where I don't even recognize it anymore. The lines, the deep crease in my brow from furrowing.
The growing number of people murdered in the city of Philadelphia.
The list grows.
It's the other things, though, that hit you right between the eyeballs like a lawn dart you did not see coming.
The things that sneak up on you while you're trying to pick up the pieces of your broken blog - that you inadvertantly dismembered. Hours spent huddling around the glowing box putting the pieces back in place. The amount of time that you realize you've spent making this thing what it is. What it was.
Rav comes downstairs and stands next to me. He recalls what transpired between himself and Connor just a mere seconds before. Because I ask him why Connor was crying like that. That being unusually sincere crying. Rav tells me that Connor asked him what would happen when I'm older - when I'm a grown up?
Rav tells him When you're a grown up, you'll go and live in your own house, doing grown up things.
At this, Connor becomes distraught. And he begins to sob. But then I won't remember you!!
Rav assures him that he will remember us. That we'll still see him.
At this, Connor calms down a bit.
And Rav tells me that Connor wanted to talk to me for a minute.
But I didn't hear that.
Because I was so engrossed in getting my blog put back together.
From upstairs, I hear my son wail. More than just a few minutes have passed since this conversation between my first-born and my husband. I look over at Rav and say in an irked tone What is he crying for???
Rav says He wanted to talk to you for a minute. I told you that.
And as I bound up the stairs, I feel oh-so small.
I sit on Connor's bed. I take him in my arms. He is now getting sweaty from crying so hard. I ask him to please tell me what's wrong.
He says as he sobs I don't want to be a grown up. I don't want to move away from you and Daddy. I want to stay here.
I tell him that You'll be with us for a looong time. You won't be a grown up for a very long time. That you'll stay with us until you're a grown up.
This does not soothe. And thinking about it after I said it, it's really not comforting news at all.
It's quite lame, actually.
He looks at me with those dark chocolate eyes and says, still sobbing But I don't want to leave. I want to stay here with you and Daddy.
Then the best I can come up with is Connor, you can stay with us as long as you want. Until you are ready to leave. You don't have to go anywhere. No one is leaving. Gracie isn't leaving, you're not leaving, I'm not leaving, Daddy's not leaving. We will all be together. And you don't have to go anywhere until you are ready to.
In this, I have flashes of my 40 year-old son taking that piece of information to heart and thinking of it warmly as he settles in bed under Rav's & my roof.
Purely for amusement purposes on my part - in my head....to ease the tension.
The tension of having realized just why you are here right now. What your purpose is right now.
The tension of knowing you are the whole world to someone right now. The noose that we try to avoid for much of our late teen to early adult lives. Then becomes something we couldn't bear to live without.
The tension of being taken down a notch. Of wanting to do anything to help my son not feel any sense of being left to his own devices for survival, well-being, and security.
The tension of knowing that my son, at 4 and 1/2, is just as anxiety-ridden as I am.
He worries of weighty things.
The tension of wondering if I'll ever get this right. At times, I feel so good at it. Being a mom. And other times...
like when I'm so engrossed in my blog....
that I don't hear my husband....
telling me my son needs me....
That heady feeling of being a good mom bursts like a balloon. The loud pop!
It hurdles you back into reality so suddenly.
He is mine for a reason. And I am his for a reason.And I do the best I can with this fragile boy that we have to mold into a man.
A man who I know will carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.
A man who I know will probably be insanely loyal.
A man that can be proud of his mom.
Even when she can't always hear him.
But feels his every move, his every breath, his every tear, his every smile
With every fiber of her being.
11 ripples in the pond:
I think I have that same son " But I don't want to leave. I want to stay here with you and Daddy".
My son, thankfully, has moved out, this past weekend. Although his clothes and toothbrush are still here and he comes back to change in the basement. And he's paying rent at his new place!
"But feels his every move, his every breath, his every tear, his every smile
With every fiber of her being."
This is beautiful and so true, it's how mom's are. We are not seperate from our children, they feel more like an extension of us than seperate beings. I think that's why men and women are so different.
You take care and see you soon.
Wow... what an awesome post! It explains that process so well... and one day you will be able to remind your teenage son of this conversation and he will cringe! :)
Peace,
~Chani
i so relate to this - i had to grow up too soon and nothing will make me force my son to grow up before he is ready. they are always our babies - i have told my son this so many times and said he must just humour me about my fussing which he is cool with...
oh, tab. first, i love your new look. it suits you completely.
second, he will be just fine, friend...he just needs to know he's safe. and he's double checking right now, and that's okay too.
okay, you're all making me well up with tears tonight!
a really great post, tab. i so enjoy your blog. :)
Such a special post.
And don't fret, you're a mum...it's your job to worry!
WOW! Great post, great shot of perspective. Just great. Boys can be so sensitive. That just breaks my heart, it really does. Going to go smooch my own five year-old now. Well, after I read just one more blog.
You are a good mama, Tabba. A good mama. (Blog and all.)
Delightful.
(And I'll think of you in the year 2044 when my sons are 40 and 38 and coming up for something to eat at 10:30pm)
Oh, and I found you through Indie Bloggers!
Stop making me cry!!!!
Carrie
Ya, that's my boy too. And I gave him the same answer that he doesn't have to leave before he's ready. These tender years of pure adoration and neediness: will I long for them terribly in 10 years? Despite all the messes and whining and uneated meals and exhaustion?
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