Amy in the Garden

It is Christmas Eve, my favorite day of the year.

Anticipation of what is to come, comfort in what has been accomplished, both metaphors for being a parent and appreciating the miracle of children.

My children are now teens and young adults. I am not yet comfortable in my role as guiding force in their lives, although I am always comfortable in the joy in the journey.

It is hard to parent. It was much easier when they were younger. While the work was literally back-breaking, because I was bending down and lifting up so often, I also got to sit down a lot with them. The best times were pre-dinner, when the afternoon crazies threatened to up-end the household with tears and short tempers and slammed doors. The best remedy was to say the magic words, “Pick out any three books, and I will read them to you.” That meant 9 books, and I was all for it, even though I had repeat after repeat after repeat. How many times could I read “Caps for Sale”? About a million times, it felt like. But I also got to read “The Story of Ferdinand,” and “Six-Dinner Sid” and “The Line-up Book” and “Chicka Chicka Boom Boom.”

I evolved as a parent, much as a child evolves in the womb. Those beginning years I was wet most of the time, from my body and theirs, and focused on the most fetal tasks — sleeping, eating, not talking much. As they grew, my back slowly straightened out, and I stood more. I kept thinking of those diagrams of the beginning of man: the creature that slowly stands upright and becomes more recognizably human. That was me. I passed Neanderthal and evolved to human when my youngest was about 6. I was fully-fledged.

And now they are leaving. Eldest will fly to the other side of the world in two weeks, and live for four months, and learn and grow away from me. My contact will be at her pleasure: emails from cyber-cafes. She is fully upright and walking away.

Middle is planning to drive away during the middle part of his college break to visit a loved one that is not related to me. He will bring her back to share with us, and then he will drive away again to return to his new life in college. His wings are his four tires, and he has evolved into this freedom with grace (assisted by gas money from us).

Youngest is alternately seeking me out and pushing me away, as she navigates her junior year and the world outside the noisy clanging hallways of high school. She is starting to search for a college, shopping for her life for a future four years, and I am caught in this nether-world with her. Wondering how much to help, how much to stand back, when to sit down, when to reach down and lift up. It’s tricky.

I am comforted by what I’ve accomplished in the last 20 years. Look at what I have: 3 children that are ready and happy to leave. Children that come back. My journey continues, because theirs does, too.

WORDS FROM OTHERS

“Human beings are the only creatures on earth that allow their children to come back home.”

–Bill Cosby