Confessions of a Daughterless Mother

Aiden sailing ahead of me There are times the universe speaks to me, lands in my lap the lessons I need to learn, what I need to know to grow. This week I had an email, a book and a conversation that conspired together to get me thinking. Raising teens, and young adults, has been the most trying time of my mothering journey. I look backward when they were babies and toddlers, in elementary school and I know the struggles were significant, the feeling of being bone tired was real, the panic and worry when a fever struck, or a bully challenged their days kept me awake many, many nights. But this. The physical work is so much less. My boys can feed themselves, wash their clothes (although I still choose to do it for them - don't judge me please), take themselves to practice.  They are independent in their physical need of me. The toll I pay now is one of mental clarity and emotional peace.  Of sleep in a way that makes me crave a newborn crying and needing to nurse. ...

A photo of Jacko's feet on the edge of the roof top of the Hog's Breath Saloon in Key West. He sent it to me while I was enjoying a cold beer and hadn't realized he had slipped away... His eyes search for roof tops the way my soul craves sand and sun. He seeks adventure, I seek safety. He darts from thought to action. I take my time, mull my options, weigh my thoughts.  He eats horse radish from a spoon and loves flaming hot Cheetos. I think ketchup is spicy.  Want to hear a Russian accent? He can do it. Irish? Absolutely. English? Scottish? Aussie? Yep, yep and yep.  He is even fluent in chipmunk. Puns roll off his tongue as easily as sarcastic remarks, he craves knowledge with his body and shirks reading or writing. His eyes sparkle with mischief - no really, they actually sparkle. He doesn't just think out of his box, he dances on it. Daily. Loudly. He craves risk, excitement, speed, danger. He is bold. He is fearless. My son.  My magical, beautiful, noisy,...

I went to Meijer three times this week.  It took until the third trip for me to remember what I needed on the first trip - ink for my printer.  I needed to scan some documentation to send to school, but the scanner on the printer was broken, no problem I will just copy it and send it in.  Except there was no ink.  And for three days I forgot there was no ink.  When I finally remembered I sat down, nearly giddy that I was this close to marking this task off of my to do list (after an embarrassing length of time) and the effing printer function was broken, too.  Eric asked me if I had done a few computery things and I said, the message on the printer literally says, "If you get message blah blah blah, your scanner/copier is broken and can not be fixed."  Now I have $40 worth of ink in a printer that only prints and won't copy or scan ... sweet. I have an "Approval Request" that has come up on my iPhone every three days and I glance at it, hit "ok"...

I believe the universe speaks to me.  At least, I believe there are times I am supposed to be learning lessons, growing from moments and situations and that the universe has a way of leading me, like a horse led to water. Cooper has been living in another state for six months now.  For six months I haven't tucked him in - save for the few nights he has spent at home (yes, he still lets me tuck him in) - or known where he is and what he's doing, what he ate and who he was with.  Not that I always knew those things when he was home - certainly that wasn't the case - but if I wanted to know, or thought I needed to know - I could know. Over the past six months I have learned a lot.  I have learned that he is a pretty capable kid. Not that I didn't have that inkling - but let me tell you there is a flush of panic as you launch them on their "own" "Did I teach him enough?" - I certainly believed he was capable, but it is a thing of beauty and plea...

I always imagine my aged feet will feel cramped, strapped in, painful when I slip them into my skates.  But, they never do, the worn, twenty year old leather feels snug, like home.  Even the ragged edges and the worn down lambs wool don't scratch or tug. I am Cinderella, the slipper always fits. The ice slips under my feet, I am not unsure. I am not nervous.  I am home. No matter the fact that it has been 2 and a half decades since I could lift this body off of the ice and my muscles are a shadow of what they used to be, my steps feel strong.  I don't jump. I don't spin.  Too many miles on these joints to do that, but I do get lost in the movement. I  feel like a young girl, a young woman, a young mother.  All the me's that I no longer am, all the me's that wore these boots.  Somehow in someway in this space, I am all of those women, all of those souls are dancing out of my blades, through my finger tips and I smile. I smile so much I start ...

He's home! He's home! I haven't written much since he left. That's not even true.  I haven't written anything of any worth in months. Since we dropped him off to be exact.  A few sentences, a few strings of words, disconnected from each other with no true band of thought.  Cooper leaving for college is the single biggest day-to-day change in my life since Aiden was born, completing my tribe of five. We survived all the messiness and struggle of the first months of separation, of wings branching out and of one less heartbeat under my roof (most of the time).  I know it's a small milestone, one semester out of his widening horizon, four months into a future that will continue to change and evolve. I know there are many challenges ahead and so many times I will again feel like a duck out of water. But today, today I am grateful. Grateful for this kid.  Grateful for his resilience and grit. I am grateful for his short comings and his weaknesses, without them the...

I wrote so often about Cooper's Senior Year, about his impending graduation and moving away that I have found myself, now that those events have passed, with very few words. I didn't cry. Well, that's kind of a lie. I didn't cry ... too much. And not in front of him, but save a few tears when I hugged his big bear chest one more time, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders and hiding my face in his arm. He said, "Hey, hey, hey ... none of that momma." I kissed my hand and placed it on his forehead, just as I have every. single. time I have left him for 18 years and 9 months. As we walked away, leaving him in academic meetings, Eric, Aiden and I walked the pathways and the sidewalks of campus. I tried to envision him there, walking with buddies, backpack slung over one shoulder. He would be laughing, his baseball hat on, the curls hidden behind his ears. I looked for places he would be drawn to - the small lake on campus, the football field. I felt t...