Today was a good day–a long day, but a good one, aimlessly wandering through three floors of baseball treasures and experiences with my oldest boy, the only one of my three kids to be as captivated by baseball as me, if not more so. It was one of those rare days when it was just the two of us with no friends, no siblings and no other adults. Just a mama and her boy who has become more man than boy by now. Just two baseball lovers sharing a (most likely) once in a lifetime experience together. Just two people who have spent most of the last twenty-one years at the center of each other’s lives, their lives weaving in and out, over, under and around each other to an unheard universal rhythm of growth and change. Just two people spending the day laughing and talking.
Yet, as the mama in this particular pair, I am finding that the letting go is harder than I ever could have imagined. I find I have to work hard to remember that this boy isn’t really a boy anymore. Even if I see my little precious baby anytime I look at him, the rest of the world sees a grown man. The plan has always been to let go. I have never wanted to be one of those moms that never accepts that her children have grown up. So why is it now feel so hard to let go and simply sit back while he forges his own path, for better or for worse.
The answer revealed itself to me last night. The first help of this year has been extremely rocky for my son–the kind of rocky that sinks ships and kills people. Having to sit back and let the pieces lay where they landed, and then helplessly watch him try to fix what had gone so very wrong, was hard for me. For him though, it was spirit breaking and soul wrenching. The bright spot was the girl who adored him anyway and supported him despite the messy circumstances. A girl, I thought to myself happily and gratefully, who saw the real him and loved him for it, who saw into his heart and understood its worth. How wrong I got that one! My son, finally turning the year around, was dealt another blow yesterday as his caring, supportive girlfriend broke up with him over the phone from another continent, saying things cruel enough, no matter how kindly they were uttered, to rob him of even the comfort of memories of their relationship. To say he was heartbroken is not even close enough to the truth.
My inner “Mama Bear” roared in my head as my son’s tears spilled, brought forth by the simple act of saying it out loud. My hands, once full of magic mama healing and super powered soothing, now seemed useless and inept as I pulled him in for a hug, mindlessly rubbing his head. I tried to will magical powers into my hug to allow me to absorb his pain, to mend his heart and return his smile. It didn’t work. It did comfort. But I could not fix or repair any little bit of it for him. Being the strong soul that he is, he had himself pulled together pretty quickly. He pulled away, smiled and said he was done talking about it. Said there was no point in being angry or sad and I let him go even though I knew it wasn’t quite the truth.
He didn’t need me to fix it which was a good thing since I appear to have lost my ability in that area all of a sudden. My hands and my heart had been rendered powerless. I have no idea when that happened. I can so clearly still see the times when my words, my kisses, my hugs or my presence alone could fix anything and everything that the world threw at him. I felt his heartache in my own heart and, alone in my room, I cried my own tears for him, and a few tears for my own loss. Without my magic mama powers, I have become, once again, just me. The rapid fall from an all-powerful, all-knowing, magical superhero to infallible mere mortal woman was swift, jarring and painful. Why didn’t anyone ever warn me about that?
R.I.P. Super Magic Mama. Your memories will stay with me. I will never forget, even if the kids do. It was great while it lasted. Here’s to meeting up again one day in my dreams!
K. Michel's Midnite Ramblings 