I thought I could ignore it.
Well, maybe not ignore it exactly..more like drape it with some trendy designer fabric and put little vintage chalkboards around it that say things in cute curly writing like:
“We’re finally here!”
“So proud and excited to reach this point of our lives!”
“Embracing the journey!”
“Couldn’t be more excited for him!”

You see, my baby–my first-born–is graduating from high school and headed off to college, and all of these little sayings are 100% completely true.
I am proud, excited and thrilled for him! He’s worked REALLY hard and he is REALLY ready for this next chapter. REALLY.
But.
But.

But…the “thing” that is lumpily hiding beneath the gray and white drapery that I’m trying so hard to ignore seems to have this way of sticking out its’ little leg and tripping me every now and then, causing me to fall to my knees and come face to face with what I’m trying to ignore.

My grief.

Now before I start hearing (and telling myself!) all of the things like, “It’s a natural part of life”, “You don’t want him living in your basement forever”, “Kids need to grow up”, “It’s not like he’s died”….let me tell you, I REALIZE THIS.
I know this.
I tell myself this. All. The. Time.

And it seems like every time I get myself settled with this idea, some sneaky little prettily concealed lump of reality pops up in front of me and causes me to stumble and mix up my carefully constructed idea of “It’s all great!” with “I’m going to miss our old life so so so so much.”

Change happens.
Change can be good.
Change leads us to something new.
But we have to realize: as we walk toward the newness…we are always walking away from something else.

The things we leave behind can be good, bad, or a pretty messy mixture of both. Irregardless, there is something that is left behind.
Things that we don’t take with us are things that we no longer have.
Things that we no longer have are things that we have lost.
Things that we have lost are a form of loss.
Things that are a loss, must be grieved.

Even when we’re happy and excited to be headed toward something new, it’s important to acknowledge that something else is over. It’s also important to allow ourselves to grieve whatever has been lost.

Grieving doesn’t always mean going all “King David” and ripping our clothes while we smear ashes over our heads and weep and wail loudly and publicly in the streets (although that’s certainly an option!!). It can mean finding a quiet corner to just remember things, or simply admitting to ourselves, our friends, or God that we are sad that we won’t be experiencing certain moments in life again.

That’s what I meant earlier by “trying to ignore it.” I’m realizing that even though I’m genuinely thrilled for this next chapter in our lives, I’m also extremely shocked and sad that the time of having all of my babies under my roof is simply….over.

I know that there is a very real chance that if I don’t address the sad thoughts now, they will pop up in the most inopportune times and make it difficult for me to fully embrace and celebrate the good changes. A book I’m reading states, “Loss is not the enemy; not facing its existence is,”(Wright 2014). Isn’t that a great nugget of truth? We HAVE to acknowledge losses. We HAVE to acknowledge our feelings around them. We HAVE to say goodbye and let go, so that our hands are free to grasp all the wonderful new things that are coming our way.

I don’t know what changes you might be going through right now in your life, but I’d like to make a gentle suggestion. Take a moment and look back at what was. Acknowledge any sadness (or happiness!!) you might feel at having to leave it, and take some time to process through it and say goodbye.

What I’m discovering that is working for me (and feel free to skip this part since you’re probably WAY more in touch with yourself than I am!) is finding a place where I can have a small chunk of time and playing a song from my aptly titled playlist, “Kleenexes Needed.”

Then I talk to God. I’m honest with Him. I thank Him for things, and I tell Him what I’m sad about. I usually end up needing those kleenex. I’ve also started leaving an eyeliner in my car so I can reapply when necessary.

I’ve told Him that:
–I really love having the privilege of seeing my adult son work to process life on his own and find his way through it, but that I really miss being able to fix everything with a hug and some ice cream.
–I love having a man-child who can carry heavy things and now insists on walking on the outside to protect me, but that I really miss him thinking I was the strongest mom in the world and carrying him on my hip.
–I’m astounded and so very proud of what he knows about this world and the way he can express his thoughts and opinions, but I remember so clearly the days when his biggest concern was why Cruella DeVille was so mean to those dalmatian puppies.
–I love the fact he can change all the lightbulbs so easily without needing a stool, but I can still smell his tousled little boy hair and remember when my chin rested perfectly on his head.

So I’m just going to acknowledge this: I’m going to miss this 18 year phase. I can’t fathom that our days as a constant family of five are over. When my eldest is gone for an evening and my younger ones say, “We should get used to this! It’s how it’s going to be next year!” I HATE it. I don’t want it to be over. I want a million more years of all the people I love so so so so much living under one roof and doing our lives totally together.

But.
But.
But that is not how it goes. I know it. I’m so grateful I get the privilege of seeing this boy-become-a-man take his rightful place in this world as he starts down the path God created specifically for him. So grateful. And I’ll stand up on my tiptoes and kiss his bristly cheek and he heads toward his super-bright future. I’ll wave goodbye and tell him we’re here whenever he needs us and I’ll turn around and love my other two babies fiercely. We’ll celebrate the graduate and we’ll celebrate our “new family” at home.

But I still may need a few moments alone in my dark car to listen to songs like THIS, and I’ll carry a package of kleenex with me, and I’ll remember that this beautiful new life means that our beautiful old life is over.  I’ll laugh and cry and probably ruin my eyeliner again. Then I’ll blow my nose and celebrate the fact that I got to have a period life that was so beautiful and special it hurt this much to give up.

 

 

(The book I’m referring to is: The Complete Guide to Crisis and Trauma Counseling,” by Norman Wright.)