“Mom, we get to have our own lockers in Junior High.”
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He announced this as I drove him home from school.
“You’re thinking about Junior High already?”
“They talked to us today in school about it.”
He continued his story, excitement icing each detail of beginning band and the choices in the cafeteria and so many different teachers.
Tears came with no warning.
“Mom, are you okay?”
By this time we were home and I said, “I need a minute, Noah. Go on in.”
My eleven-year-old sensed what was wrong. “Is it because I’m growing up?”
I nodded. He grinned and got out of the car.
Last night, he and John and I went to my son’s new Boy Scout troop’s meeting. We were all impressed and excited. Noah and John were talking about the details when we walked up to our condo.
“I am going to work hard to be an Eagle Scout, Dad. I’m up to the challenge.”
“I’ll walk Scooby,” I announced.
I needed a minute.
The throbbing of my heart seems like it’s a possessed engine these days, starting up and going off with no warning. My boy is growing up. It’s the natural thing. My parents always encouraged aging in our family. I was rewarded for it on my 18th birthday with a set of luggage.
But I wonder if my mom’s heart hurt like mine does now. I’m sure it did.
When Scooby and I came in last night, John asked if I was okay. I told him my soul felt like Velcro and my baby boy was being ripped away from me, a little at a time.
I can be dramatic.
But letting go is difficult, isn’t it Mom? How do you deal with this?
