November 16, 2021

On a misty, cold and rainy day last week my husband and I took the ferry to Seattle. Our destination was clear, the lightness in our hearts matched by the bright shimmer of raindrops scattering upon the sea as we happily anticipated our first visit together to our eldest son now living a few hours away.

We are all still adjusting to this new reality. This change takes time.

A few hours later as we stood grinning, arms full of little gifts outside his apartment door it opened partway, our eyes meeting briefly before it quickly closed then opened again. Like the silly boy he once was, with blond hair and high pitched voice like a little bird full of song, he was still playing with us. A joke or a clue in to us that this was a quiet and big moment—we were about to step into his own home, a nest that he cobbled together himself, with his partner and two other women we don’t yet know. We embraced whole heartedly inside the door, a calm sweeping over all of us to be in each other’s presence again.

Over the past few months Josh has reminded me (and himself) a few times that our son is doing exactly what we did at his age, and we should celebrate his desire to spread his wings and live independently. I agree, but the view is faded, the way forward for all of us shrouded in mist just like the low clouds over Seattle the day we went to visit him. Some parts of the city view were clear, like my joy with going to visit, bright yellow like the piers along the harbor. But the view is socked in mist in some places in my mind, like the grey clouds completely obscuring the top half of the Space Needle.

I know the top of the needle is there, like I know our boy has a good heart and a clever mind, but I can’t know where it will take him.

And I miss him. Daily.

Our day visit was our own sort of “parents’ weekend”, self-made, on the campus of learning that is his new town.

He quickly showed us around his new home, recently tidied anticipating our first visit, but cluttered just enough to put me at ease. An overly tidy home always puts me on edge. His room was carefully arranged, his skateboards and intricate drawings upon the walls, like little prayers giving life to this new space. The bed was neatly made, a colorful glass-shaded lamp on the bedside table, masks neatly hung in a row above the t.v. I felt comforted seeing A’s fine drawings and sketches there, little paper claims to his own life, his own dreams.

We took him out to lunch, reveling in the easy, familiar comfort of each other, Josh and I eating up his every word and thought, taking it in bite by bite, marveling at our son’s ability to reflect and ponder his new life, and willingness to share stories of his new friends and new struggles with us. We shared sips of our beer with him, a quiet way of acknowledging his adulting, the maturity he is owning, the grown up he is becoming.

After lunch we visited some nearby waterfalls, and wandered down muddy paths past a roaring river, our man child pointing out his favorite boulders and hideaways, and proudly showing us the leaping off place where in summertime he flung himself off a huge boulder, 20-feet high, into the deep freshwater pool below.

A spring in his step, our eldest sauntered along the muddy path, a younger version of his dad, full of light and optimism. Above, cedar trees dripped with rain and balding maple trees scattered orange leaves hither and yon, over bright ferns and decaying stumps shooting up soggy mushrooms.

We stood for a bit down beside the deep pool, a twinge of yearning rising up inside me to step in to the frigid water. No, not this day. Maybe next time.

The river roared and we three shared the sweet rush of sound together.

Back at the house, after a trip to the local Value Village, we cozied up in A’s room, where Josh and I watched in wonder as our boy effortlessly engineered a detailed spaceship out of legos, while the house cat sat by peering through the radiator.

In the evening we dragged ourselves away, with a few beautiful art prints skillfully rendered by our son’s sweet partner. The whimsy and otherworldliness of her work* is a treasure to behold.

We hugged long and smiled big and promised to come back soon with our younger son in tow.

It was pitch black and pouring rain as we sped down the freeway, Josh gripping the steering wheel tight, and both of us gripping the memory of this beautiful day tight in our hearts, recounting the joys and sharing the hopes we hold for our two sons, and feeling the ache of loving that only a parent can know—that raw, endless love that holds the body up and gives life like the sea, washing away everything but unbridled wonder and weightlessness, awe and delight.

And fear, deep below the surface, pushing up and threatening, fueled by anxiety and knowledge that a stormy world hovers nearby.

Only intentional focus on the lightness of the waves, listening to the steady sound of raindrops and the daily work of letting go keeps the fear at bay.

It was another day in the life of parenthood, leaving me breathless, euphoric and weightless like a swim at sea.