Saying Goodbye
I thought I was ready. I’ve known this day was coming for years. Twelve years, three months, and three days, to be exact. Since the day he got here, I knew that my job was going to be to say goodbye to my son. With that long to prepare for goodbye, you’d think I’d have been ready. Not so.
Maybe you simply can’t be ready for something like saying goodbye. And maybe part of it is that he doesn’t realize how big a step he’s taking today, when he climbs into Mr. Leake’s truck and they join the Troop 40 convoy heading to Camp Kia Kima in Hardy, Arkansas. He thinks he’s just going camping for a week.
And maybe you think it’s kind of trivial. I can hear some of you saying, “He’s only going to Boy Scout camp for a week, for pete’s sake. He’ll be home in eight days. Get a grip.” And I had a really good grip until they left. I was determined not to embarrass him by crying all over him. But after they pulled away, there was no holding back the floods.
Because this morning’s goodbye marks a huge step in my son’s life … and an equally big step in mine.
You see, Caleb has never been away from home without a parent in attendance before. Yes, he’s been away from me for a week or two before. But never without me, his dad, or one of the family along for the ride. And all this week, with getting him ready, and then watching him drive off this morning, I realized that he really is a teenager now. He really is growing up and moving out into his life. His life.
My son is growing up. I remember when he was newborn, and it seemed that the sleep-deprivation and diapers would never end. I remember teaching him sign language so that he could communicate his needs before he was able to talk. I remember the night he asked me to pray with him to ask Christ into his heart. I remember when he was old enough to start formal schooling, and how nervous I was that I would push him too hard, too fast; or not push hard enough. I remember reading the Narnia and Dr. Doolittle books aloud to him at bedtime every night for a year … I wonder if we ever finished those series? Things went from “is this ever going to end?!” to “when did he get to be as tall as me?!”, and I can’t remember now.
I remember the first time he went on a long trip; we put his backpack on his back, and it was so heavy that he slowly toppled over onto his back, and lay there waving his arms and legs like an upended turtle. But when I strapped his pack on his back last night, he stood so tall and straight, and carried that heavy pack so sturdily — I was amazed. What a change in only a few years!
I think I begin to understand what the Bible means when it says that Mary “kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.” Because my heart is full of so many things that simply cannot be expressed. And I know I am not exactly losing those things, but that things will be different now. Less “mothering” and more “mentoring.” Less instructing and more counseling. I was just getting the hang of the “mother” role. Will I be able to shift into the “mentor” role fast enough?
I’m glad my brother called and wants me to come over for a cookout and swimming this afternoon. It will get me out of the house, away from the laundry (much of it his) that needs to be folded, and the house tidying (with all the reminders) that needs to be done. It will engage my mind with other people and other things, and maybe then I will be able to cope a little better.
I know he’s going to be fine. He’s a smart kid, and he’s got really good Scout leaders along. He knows how to identify the poisonous plants and the dangerous varmints. (But please don’t let my little nature-lover encounter any venomous snakes, and don’t let him come home with specimen bottles full of critters!) I even hope that he will discover a little confidence in himself, since he’s going to have to be fairly self-sufficient in the coming days, and he tends to be overly afraid of making mistakes.
And he’s not “mine” anyway. He’s God’s. I gave him to God the day I found out he was on his way, and he gave himself to God five years later. He’s God’s, and I reckon God can take care of His children. I’ve known for all these years that he’s only mine on loan, and that God has a purpose and a plan for him that go far beyond me and my role as his mother.
So it’s not worry that’s got me all emotional. It’s just the change. And I know it’s a good — and inevitable — change, but it’s going to take some getting used to.