Following in the footsteps

Parenthood opened my eyes, and while it showed me a glimpse into my own parents' experiences, it wasn't until my mother died that I felt a connection, an understanding if you will. We used to talk about it some. I'd discuss my feelings on an issue regarding my children, and she would nod and remind me of a time when I did the same thing as my children. Whoa. But I didn't dwell on it like I do now. Now I feel a fist bumping sympathetic connection.

I think of her when I sit down each night to eat my dinner at our kitchen table by myself. I think of her during the day when I realize that I've sat reading a book way too long. I think of her when I sit up waiting for my daughter to come home from a night of fun. Recently, after attending a women's luncheon where I met the most fascinating older women, we were discussing my feelings on becoming an empty nester, and one of the women opened my eyes even further. She told us that after college they go off and get married, and she was okay with that because she just decided she would travel to them.

Her: "I went to the first child's home at Christmas, and within two days of being there I realized that my kids didn't need me anymore. They had their new lives. They needed to establish their own traditions, needed to form their own lives, get to know one another. I knew my job was done, and that I needed to move on."

Yikes! While deep down I knew this, I wasn't ready to hear that it could happen so soon! I was counting on those articles I kept reading about how college graduates are returning home to live with mom and dad again because they can't find jobs. I was looking forward to that despite knowing it was a pipe dream. I'm well aware of the times I moaned about not being able to establish our own holiday traditions and instead had to travel from family to family. I said all of that to my own mother who didn't like budging on her own traditions such as turkey for Christmas dinner.

Now as my empty nest days are coming faster I want to put my hand up and just yell, "Stop! I'm not ready yet!" I want my kids to stay in their childhood rooms. I don't want them to fly. They aren't ready. Except that they are, and there is truly nothing I can do to stop them from leaving. The rational part of me knows this, is very proud of them, while the irrational part of me is in total denial. I think of my mother. She followed me to Florida. It is all making more sense.

Me: "Wow. After just that first visit? What did you do?"
Her: "I joined the Peace Corp and lived in Romania for two years."

Uh. Maybe I need to find something in between following my kids and joining the Peace Corp.