I haven't added anything to this blog in some time. Life has gotten ahold of me again. Since my last entry I have been unexpectedly unemployed. My third "retirement" and my first uninvited. I feel like I am coming out of the shock now. It is spring and although it has always been a hopeful time of year for me, it is also one that brings up some of my deepest losses. April is full of landmark dates. The first is the anniversary of my brother's death in 1995. He died of cancer at the age of 46. The 10th would have been my mother's 90th birthday if she had not also died of cancer in her mid 40s. The 16th is my older son's birthday. He will be 34 this year and I miss him a thousand times a day. He is strong and healthy and living in Seattle, and I speak to him on the phone occassionally and see him maybe once a year, and as adult children and relationships go, I suppose we do okay. But nobody told me how hard it would be to lose that closeness I felt when he was growing up; when he looked to me for understanding, love, compassion. I had no parents to have experienced this need to "break away", establish myself as completely separate. My parents were gone way too young and I was cast adrift to maneuver on my own...I didn't even start to blame them for my failings until I was almost 40. Instead I have struggled to resolve the loss of closeness with distance. He left for college on the opposite coast at 18 and he never came home again. When he found and married the love of his life, I thought we would regain some of our connection, that he would be more comfortable with his adulthood more defined. But he said he felt like he had to make a choice between us and that he could not be close to both of us. So I stepped aside and accepted what he could offer; and tried to redefine who we were to each other. I accepted his statements and recited the "if you love it set it free" mantra several times a day for a loooong time. And for the last year or two it is better...much better...maybe I am finally growing up?
This is beautiful Yvonne. It is a bit comforting for me to know that I have not lost my mind completely when I start down the wild path of mourning my children's childhood. My mother was a butterfly and so I did not have to break-away from her either; she never touched ground for very long. There is some renewal of this thing we miss when we have grandchildren, huh? We pour over stories in books and old photos that they remember and life is once again, simple and innocent; at least for an hour or so. I do like the occasional glass of wine or beer over deep conversation with them too (something nice about grown-ups). Now there is a good title for a book.
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