My Job is Done

I woke up weeping this morning. I missed my kids. After a cup of coffee, I realized that I didn’t want them to move back home, and I didn’t want to spend any more time in the big city waiting for them to have a minute to hang out with Mom. Part of what I was weeping about was that my children are really doing well. They are well-housed, and Son has adequate housekeeping habits. They eat well and they aren’t afraid to explore the big city and make friends. They have a busy and meaningful life of work, school, friends, music, and seeking out new challenges. I weep because their success means that I myself must have done an adequate job at preparing them for the world – and now they most likely won’t ever come home again. My job as Mom is done.

So, after another several cups of coffee, I am sitting in the bright sun of the Parlor Car trying to tap into that Fountain of Freedom that is part of the Empty Nest Syndrome. Let me make a list of all the things I can do now, since my parenting duties are mostly completed. Let me not be overwhelmed by the length of the list!

Some of the things on the list are items deferred from early years: now, at last or now again, I have money and time enough. There may be some issues with required strength and agility. I want to learn how to weld and make metal sculptures for the yard. I want to write a non-fiction book and a novel, and publish a collection of my poems. I want to make a quilt depicting the landscape I see from my living room windows. I want to learn to paint recognizable scenes with watercolors. I want to ride a lot more trains. Oh! I want to create a potting shed where I can start seeds in the winter and make the under-deck into a haven for relaxation in the shade (that goal is started…).

So, this trip was not what I said it was: a visit to my kids to confirm that they were fine, or step in with funds and a vehicle to fix the troubles. This was, actually, in this early retrospective, a chance to confirm that my Mommying is done. I needed to know from the evidence of my eyes (if conversations weren’t sufficient) that my children didn’t need me. I needed to know that it was OK with them that I now put my attention elsewhere: on my own needs and desires. They are fine. They are thriving. Perhaps I can learn from them. It’s time for me to become an adult (instead of a Mom) and build a life of my own.