This week, the last of my children became an adult. I've no babies left. Except they're all my babies, and always will be, except for now, it's only the mid twenties child that appreciates that.
I work hard to stay in my lane, and be a parent of adults, which is hard - hard if they're at home and hard when they live on their own and you try not to message all the time in between visits.
It looks like the last two of my kids will move out of home next year, though the youngest to college so back and forth a little. This terrifies me - not for them, how wonderful! For me. What does that mean? A large part of the last 20 years has been focused on them. I've arranged my whole life, my work, my ability to work, my outings, my friendships, trips away, being home, every day has been arranged around them and where they need to be or what they need. Instead of breathing a sigh of relief that it's finally my turn, I see empty rooms yawning, a never ending chorus of silence in the house nagging at me and longing. There will be so much longing. I will miss them. I miss who they were and I miss who they are - I don't see them enough, we don't play together enough like we used to, when they were a little gang of primary school kids. Of course, it's normal, and it is enough for them. They have their own lives now. I know that. I don't want to guilt them the way our parents generation guilted us. I don't want our time spent together to be a hassle or obligation. I want it to be fun, maybe even something they look forward to.
I have written before that our job as parents is to learn to be parents of adults. We have to adjust our expectations of control. We have to love and respect who they are. We have to give them their freedom. That can be harder than it should be.
Especially as for many of us, it is an era over. It is time that we treasured and now grieve. But we shouldn't. Putting together the slide show for the party, I was inundated with so many moments of love and laughter frozen in time. The trio that played together, my permanent entourage, then the inseparable duo, then the lone teen...we had a wonderful life all together, but she's been an only child for awhile now. That family time that I feel has ended this week really started to dissolve many years ago. As it does. As it should.
So maybe it is me that needs to realise I'm all grown up. And that has to be a good thing?
As I wrote in this post 'a chapter has closed. I need to focus on the excitement of a whole new book awaiting to be opened!'
The photo is from the Shuji Terayama Memorial Museum in Misawa. Part of the exhibit, you fossick through his desk drawers with a flashlight and discover the treasures and memories from his life and work. His poems refer to his love-hate relationship with his mother, and I hope my kids only have fondness for me, not tainted like his. But I felt the picture was a reflection of my mourning of being a childless mother.


































