I'd rather go blind

New phases in life show up when I am least ready for them. I anticipate them or listen as my friends tell me about them but they still catch me by surprise. Initially I am never ready for change, my first reaction is always to balk it. I groan and fret and ruminate about the upheaval. But eventually adapt and even thrive with it. I have come to see myself as a resilient women. I have weathered many major life changes and done quite well with them overall. I remember when my eldest son Jeremy, who was 18 at the time, went off to basic training. Terry and I drove him from the cottage to the bus depot in Antigonish. I remember my underlying anxiety on the way there, that 50 km drive to drop him off. The flood of memories that swirled in my head from when he was quickly born that sunny fall morning, to his birthdays, his first girlfriend, the stupid and silly shit he pulled over the years. It was like a life review of our relationship, like the one people say you have when you are drowning or dying. Round and round it went in my head along with the thought - how the hell am I going to say goodbye? You see I knew this was it, the start of the loss of my children, of my loss of them  and their taking on the world as young adults in their own right. It was starting with him and I wasn't ready. And the goodbye was as painful as I thought, I would have rather gone blind than to see him walking away, to misquote a song. I remember crying the whole way home, that sobbing that gets hysterical at times. I remember Terry pulling over and hugging me on the side of the road to comfort me. Such bittersweet leaving.  My intuition was correct that day in knowing he was moving to a new different phase in his life that would include never living with us again. He never returned home to Nova Scotia to live again in his spot as eldest son in our family, he visits, but doesn't stay. He has his own family now. This is good, but wasn't then.

When Sam and Mary moved out it was like two doors down, I knew it wasn't permanent, rather just a test of them spreading their wings and flying out the nest, and I was right- they both moved back and forth numerous times until the permanent one. The coming and going lessened the pain and made the transition easier for all of us. When my sweet Candice moved it was to the big smoke, downtown in a highrise by her school. My girl all alone, minimal money, half blind and on her own. My anxiety over that so profound I buried it, stuffed the feelings and minimized the whole thing. I was not very supportive,  I see now (as I do many things in hindsight) my self protective unhealthy mechanisms to deal with this was a huge mistake. One I still profoundly regret and live with. I have sincerely apologized with tears in my eyes to her but wonder if that is enough (probably not). Or maybe I just think it wouldn't be for me if the shoe was on the other foot- and I need to give this sweet child of mine more credit, maybe she did forgive me. (perhaps I will save this examination for another post).

But now my baby has told me of his leaving. Yes he is 24, not a baby, he has his own life and love, I get that, I want that for him, it's time. None of that soothes the heart because emotion has it's own logic. He is not only my baby, he is probably the child who knows me best, who has seen the most of my private life, who has seen me through the worse grieving of my spouse. The one whom I have had the deepest and most meaningful conversations with, the child with whom I have had the most growth, pain, laughs, learning and fights with. I love him no more than my other four precious children but circumstances made my relationship with him unique among them all. His absence will hurt I am sure, but here is what I now know- I will grow as a result. Despite the fact his leaving will leave the biggest void, and usher in the dreaded empty nest and despite no Terry to turn to and hug when the door shuts -the apartment empty save me and Pax- I will grow. I am resilient.

I say this because I believe that with all this experience I have had in my children's flights to freedom from mom, I can muster the courage to do this right. By that dear reader I mean and envision feeling the loss that surfaces, not feeling the need anymore to minimize, medicate or bury it. Just have the cry if need be, revel in the emptiness, daydream the youngest son's life accomplishments as you review. And also marvel at mine and Terry's job in raising five beautiful strong healthy fantastic children ready to offer the world all of their unique and wonderful gifts. We did our job well darling.

I fell in love with all my children, with my husband, knowing the pain it would bring. It's funny to admit and believe the old saying that it is so much better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. I remember being told that shortly after my husband died and I wanted to fucking gouge out the eyes of the person who said it. I remember thinking "easy for you to say you fuck, have you lost your ......?). But all that love, all that amazing family life, special occasions, pride, joy and wonder I felt over the years with these beautiful souls in my life's journey- oh yes- so much worth any pain. I would never trade it, not if you showed me all the pain and offered me a out before it even happened, never.  I would always choose them and my life with them.  Like I have said, the older I get the more I know what I didn't know.  Life is full of mini losses and big ones, it is full of joy and revelation. Embrace it all.

I, the willing pupil, fearlessly await.