Are You There?

[susanmtns]

Are You There?

When my son left for college, I felt an immediate release. It was as though I could breathe a little easier, that part of my work had come to fruition. I relished the two years with my daughter before she went off to study. They went too fast.

It was hard to wonder about what it would be like in the silence of their rooms. There had been much activity in our home for many years. Even though I absolutely loved every moment of it, I yearned to find that part of me I put on hold.My marriage had completed as well. I wasn't sure what was left of me or what I would do. But I knew a delicious adventure awaited. It was like part of me was going off to college, even though I had received a Masters degree a few years before their launching.

For so many years I went from one treadmill to another. I didn't mind it. There were no role models. I felt as though I was running through my life.Then I realized this and started slowing it down ~ being more present with myself. I hoped my two guinea pigs would be okay. I loved them dearly. That I had given them all they would need. The rest they would discover for themselves as I did. That would also be their adventure. I hoped they would enjoy it. I sure did.

Like a bird out of a cage. A first. There was a freshness to everything. I wanted to travel, try new experiences. Paint. Hike. Investigate. No limits on anything. The world was open. The only limitations would be the ones I might impose.

There would be more time for friends as I would add many. But I learned it wasn't a journey to any place. It was a journey within. My adult children were spreading their wings. Beautifully. I was spreading mine.

It was at once bittersweet. Joyous. Tearful. So many conflicting emotions. I didn't know how or where to put them. They just flowed. I was glad to be able to express them more fully now.

I yearned to move beyond the lifestyle I had fallen into. Too pat. Boring. Predictable. I wanted to stir it all up to see where it landed. And I did.

But what happened surprised me. I hadn't been down this road before. Almost immediately I searched for them wherever I went. I traveled to the Bahamas, central Europe, Canada and Alaska and across the United States a few times. I didn't know how to do this being without them. But I didn't want them home. This was their time. It was mine. I love them dearly.

I searched for them in the kitchen where I would be cooking and they would be at the table, doing their homework. And down the hall. I thought of their day and what they were doing. The longing was more than I could bare. Between the yearnings were joyous times when I fell into myself, the moments more pleasing than they had a right to be. There was no guilt.

I traveled to see them again and again and lived for the moments when we would all be together. Then one Christmas it snowed. The day that had always been a treasure saw them leave before we had our Christmas dinner. We were in for a major snow storm; they had lives and jobs in other towns. They needed to go.

It was just before 7 a.m. It was Christmas. I hadn't even had the joy of watching my first and only grandson, just fifteen months old, about to open his presents. We were expecting almost a foot of snow. No one would get off the mountain. They had to go.

We hugged our goodbyes and I worked hard to close my jaws. I was shell shocked. But it was a blessing and I would learn why soon.

It began when I summered in Portsmouth, New Hampshire to be closer to be daughter that the pieces began to fit. This was her home. I already had one. While I loved my opportunity to enjoy the New England seacoast I didn't know how ready I would be to come home. I made some wonderful friends and I will keep up with them. They are deeper friendships, the kind that come at this time of one's life. When we have the time and lack of inhibition to share all that we are. We don't care so much anymore; our masks have come off.

But I am coming home, not so much a physical place as an emotional and spiritual one. I am coming home to my own heart, to myself, the one I had nearly forgotten. The one who missed me. I won't be lost again.