Goodbye to My Boy

Bye to My Boy

I watched him walk away from my car just a few days ago, his tall, slim frame buffeted by the January wind. He had been my tiny boy. Now he is a handsome, bearded man.

 

You know, by the time you get to middle age, you learn a lot of things about life. One of them is how often we have to say goodbye. Some of those farewells are easy. Some are pretty darned tough. I have learned that the toughest farewells are when our kids grow up and walk away. Maybe I’m an old-fashioned girl, but I now know I was made to be their mother. I used to sit by their crib when they were small, watching their tiny chests raise and fall in time with their breaths. I relished the smell of their infant heads, the scent of their small sleepers after a good night’s rest.

 

No one was happier on a snow day than I, for we played in the yard carving snow angels and rolling snowmen, drinking hot cocoa afterwards by the fireplace with grilled cheese and fresh-baked cookies. All too soon, those children grew into teenagers. I loved that era too when my boy’s rock band mates hung out in our basement, playing the same tunes until my head spun and I yelled hello into the answered phone. Later I stood by the stove, serving up burgers or pizza, smiling from ear to ear. 

 

Then college approached, and the boxes were packed. I used my living room for each child’s freshman year, stowing comforters and socks, towels and new underwear for their departures. It sometimes reminded me of those boxes I received when on bedrest with sleepers and blankets, bibs and undershirts that were the first little duds they would ever wear. 

 

And so there I sat last week looking at my boy leave my side like he did when he first began to toddle. And later when he bid his tearful farewell at preschool. And later still in kindergarten and elementary school. When he was in high school, I searched for his face in the muddle of children in the marching band as they entered the field. Eventually, I watched him go to college and then to his jobs in Columbus. No, not so far away, but it can feel that way when the roads are snow covered and I’m making his favorite homemade soup from scratch on the stove.

 

Sometimes when I awaken, I have forgotten the when and where. I think I am still in my former house with my sweet children sleeping down the hall. I worry that they’ll be late for school when I remember that the years have passed. I must dress for school and let out the dog. For they are grown, and have walked away.