“Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
So make the best of this test, and don’t ask why
It’s not a question, but a lesson learned in time
It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right
I hope you had the time of your life…
”’Time Of Your Life’, Green Day.
Children are always in moving. From the moment they are born, they are in constant motion. I vividly remember bringing my first day alone with my young daughter, our first day home from the hospital.
She was in her stroller at the end of the couch from me (her bassinet was in the room with her exhausted mother), and she made one of those little cooing, squeaking baby noises. Then, all the enormity of being responsible for a new life rolled on me in an instant, and I thought, “how in the hell am I going to care for this kid!?”
And it’s not like each kid comes out of the womb with a custom toe tag that says, “This one is an artist. This one is smart and mouthy, and will never eat anything green. Oh, and they’ll wreck the car at 16.”
A few short years after that, and this time it’s the inevitable bicycle. On the bike, she was equally undeterred. She wobbled and crashed after a short distance, but escaped with dirty clothes and superficial scrapes. Further, she was undeterred. She stood up, set her jaw in a miniature version of her mother’s, and got back on. A second attempt, and, still a little wobbly, a little unsure, she took off, wheeling away. Mostly sideways, rather than forward, but onward she went.
It wasn’t until I took off the training wheels on her bicycle that I realized that she was in motion away from me. Thinking back, I realized It had started as soon as she learned how to crawl, and then surf the furniture, standing, walking on rubber knees, taking bobbling steps. Once she could move, she was unstoppable, constantly exploring her environment. And now, years later on the bike, she was free on two wheels, moving her away, farther, faster.
Away to new friends. Steadily advancing class years, full of new experiences, both good and bad. The equally inevitable car. But always Out. Forward. Away.
It would be easy to draw that analogy out to now, to make the predictable conclusion and say that, after a wobbly journey, she spread her wings and flew. But that wouldn’t be true. She’s well prepared for this. She never really wobbled (or if she did, she handled it like a pro and I never knew it). She’s been working, buying her own food, supporting herself. She’s smart, tough, competent, and as prepared as anyone her age can be. She will be absolutely fine.
If anyone is struggling, it’s her mother and I. As I write this, there are boxes and bags and piles of clothing scattered all over the house. There are weird holes in our house, and thus our life, where another person used to be – or will be. There are holes in cupboards, on counters, the fridge, where she once was. To say nothing of her room – empty of its possessions and stripped of the life and vibrancy of the person which once made the walls and paint and wood come alive.
If life is like a puzzle, my house is full of the pieces of her life.
Moving day came, and once again I was following her car, away towards her new life, a van full of her things, as she guided us for the first time, towards the new house, city, and life she had chosen for herself.
We were met by her new roommate and they happily began setting up where all the things were to be unloaded. And after a few hours, it was complete. We spent a happy dinner with her and her roomie, and then it came time to leave. On the ride home I tried not to think too much about how empty the van was. And later at home, just how suddenly quiet and big and empty the house felt. We began to explore our new life as an only couple again, 25 years after we first started.
It has not been easy. Her mother, very close to the departure date, turned to me tearfully and said, “She grew inside me for nine months, and I’m losing her. And in losing her, I’m losing a piece of me. And that piece of me is going away.”
I didn’t know what to say. But in the face of our grief, I had to say something. Helplessly, I groped for something, anything. I used the first emotion fueled thought string that popped into my head.
”We’re giving her a bunch of our stuff. Pots, pans, plates, dishes, towels. Everything we give her, to start her new life, is a piece of home she’s taking with her. And since she is parts of both of us, she’ll never be truly away from us.”
And with that, I’d accidentally stumbled upon it. Children might always be moving away, but it’s never really away in a direct line. It’s more like an orbit. Depending on the child and your relationship, the orbit is nearer or farther away from you, the sun. And just as all suns die, so do we. And as we do, our children eventually become stars themselves, with spouses, friends, and partners to orbit around them.
And so the cycle continues. Parenting is all about doing your best with limited information. The sheer weight of being completely responsible for a baby human, that I helped make, made me a bit panicky, but in the end, bumps and all, I figured out how to make it work for me. As of this writing, It has been 8,808 days of trying to figure it out. It will be an unknown number of days of continuing to figure it out.
So traveling away, while painful, is necessary, as they establish their particular orbit around a new sun.
It is our joy, and our grief, to first form them, and then set them free.
Tom Nadratowski 