Taking a Moment to Feel

A tiny celadon sculpture of two monkeys at the Birmingham Art Museum seems an odd way to begin, but sometimes the Divine cracks us open in the most unusual ways. Normally I don’t go in for Wedgewood, but this one caught my attention because it was a mother cradling her child, and despite being a monkey sculpture, it seemed to sum up all that I have been feeling. You see, my son is headed off to college in a few weeks and I have been stuffing down my feelings about it for a long time. As I stood there, having a mind-meld with a ceramic monkey, it all came down at once and my chest felt like it was bursting.

There is now a crazy game of continuous ping-pong in my mind, bouncing from joy at my son’s dreams realized, to grief over the end of an era…and it is an era that I’ve loved. The other night it hit me – on August 14^th I will go from being a daily fixture in his present life to becoming part of his origin story. Maybe this thought is the result of too little sleep, but there it is and now I can’t seem to un-think it. I’ve always been a full steam ahead kind of person with a busy To Do list, but for the first time in my life I want to sit down and turn back the clock. Some years, or at least just a few months, please God.

And yet, no. If I were able to keep my boy tiny forever, I’d never get to know the thoughtful, intelligent, caring man he is becoming. And also, I just like him. I think he’s cool. He’s funny and sharp, with a full life of mistakes, re-takes, the occasional outtake, and a willingness to try again. Is there a word for this exquisite joy/pain? Everyone tells you that there’s no way to prepare for bringing a newborn home, but I’ve heard very little about what to do when you’re about to leave your heart on a college campus.

So…I’ll come home. I’ll try not to hover. Take a deep, cleansing breath and focus on my art and yoga practice, laugh and cry with my husband, reach out to friends, and work to grow this nascent project of meditation and sound bath. It will be good. Nourishing, even. Happiness does not equal the absence of sadness. This is the beauty of being human, and I choose to lean into it, all in grace and peace.