Learning My Lessons

It’s definitely been the weirdest Senior spring ever – I think that’s safe to say.

All the expected senior experiences and traditions simply erased in the wake of COVID 19. Initially, it felt devastating, at least to me, your mom. As the days turned empty, I wondered how we’d mark the milestone, acknowledge the rite of passage.

Last night, we did celebrate though. Our community organizing a Senior Parade – cars decorated – driving through campus, family and school staff cheering loud, fire truck and police car sirens screaming too. It’s the closest thing we’re going to get to a graduation ceremony for you.

For me it was emotional.

It may be hard for you, my 17-year-old graduating son, to understand this, but I remember being your age, busy with my own life and plans, not really taking the time for or understanding all the inter-connectedness of family and important relationships. More of that kind of understanding comes with age and experience and maturity.

It’s natural for you to think the way you do, and I need to remind myself of that.

You have a life ahead of you! For you, this milestone is less about leaving your childhood behind and more about moving forward to what’s ahead. And that’s the way it should be. You, tall of stature, shoulders squared and eyes clear to the future.

A mom can’t help but look back, though, to all the steps that brought you here.

Your entrance into this world as a tiny little human with a big loud set of lungs – so utterly dependent, terrifyingly so.

Feverish nights, nursing you through, growing strong against viruses and bacteria.

Giant smiles and giggles setting off deep dimples – endless inquisition, non-stop thinking and the tenderest heart. Trucks. Balls. Splashes. And scratches.

Nail-biting games – running, kicking, dribbling, throwing. My heart out there, brave, growing strong.

Monumental efforts, sometimes, tackling schoolwork that seemed so unimportant to you compared to all the other things you wanted to learn.

The complicated heart and mind encountering crushing blows, asking questions too big for your size.

The deep compassion that lurks behind that slow smile, the eyes that tell a story of knowing so much more than you let on.

Just like every other mom, I can't help but worry, really worry, about you sometimes, but here’s the biggest lessons I’m still learning in the process of mothering you:

1.) Letting go of the infant given to me in utter dependence is an important process to recognize.

2.) Listening to ask good questions helps me understand and get to know the individual God’s made you to be.

3.) Doing whatever I can to support you as you grow into your independence and unique design is essential to the business of mothers and sons.

4.) Cheering you on as you go out to contribute, sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing, means I am always here for you, no matter what.

As a TCK (third culture kid), you've learned firsthand how important good goodbyes are, and I know that goodbye is coming, in a sense, for you and me.

It’s a final farewell to the kind of mother-son relationship we’ve had, saying “dosvedanya” to the childish one, welcoming a new chapter of relating as adults, mother and son.

I can see the learning stretching out ahead of us, unlimited. I’m thankful, grateful, and as always, overwhelmed.