Elizabeth, now 21, and Sara Ann, now 18, at the lake in 2002.
In 20 days, my youngest daughter, Sara Ann, leaves for college. It’s the most significant life change since I first became a mother in 1988. I’ve been counting down the days, not to be morbid, but because it’s easier for me to process if I’m aware of what is happening.
We spent this past weekend at my family’s lake house on Greers Ferry Lake in Arkansas — the setting for some of the best times of our lives. It was our last lake weekend before The Empty Nest and my first inclination was, don’t think think about the fact that it is the last, just enjoy the time.
Except … while thinking about it certainly brings tears, do I really want to look back on these days and remember nothing special about them? No — I want to savor every moment; I want to be fully there. Tears are a small price to pay for the memory of:
The last dinner at the table at the lake. Steak, baked potatoes, garlic bread and peach cobbler. A nice bottle of Cabernet.
The last day on the lake. An idyllic sunny day with a pleasant breeze, screams of joy on the inner tube and time to relax and enjoy the clear water and unspoiled beauty of the foothills of the Ozarks.
The drawer. As we packed to leave, she showed me “her drawer” in the master bedroom. I hadn’t known about this drawer. It contains things she has kept there since she’s been old enough to open a drawer. Books, markers, hair clips, coloring books, rubber bands, some small toys, pencils. Little girl things, not college girl things.
The drawer took me back to a time when college would happen someday, not in 20 days; when many more dinners, sunny days, skinned knees, broken bones and broken hearts lie ahead.
I’ve never believed that to display emotion is to show weakness, that it’s necessary to deny what we feel in order to be strong. In my experience, it requires more strength to face that which is painful; to walk through rather than try to walk around and pretend to be unaffected.
So in 20 days, when I leave my youngest three hours away in Conway, Arkansas, I will feel it. I won’t distract myself with busyness, or try to take my mind to a happy place. I’ll curl up in a ball and cry if I need to and I’ll remember every thought, every feeling, every moment. And I know there will be a time when it hurts just a little less.
But for now, I’m going to count down the last 20 days and treasure each one. Even if it costs me a tear or two.
I’ve always believed that the things that make us angry, make us laugh or make us cry say a lot about our character.
This is our youngest daughter, Sara Ann. Injustice makes her angry. Puppies, small children and her mom’s senior moments make her laugh. Poverty and homelessness make her cry.
She gave this talk — and shed these tears — during this past weekend’s a youth retreat at Germantown United Methodist Church.
My Christmas tree doesn’t look like this anymore. In fact. there are no gifts under the tree at all. There isn’t even a tree skirt; the dogs just keep playing with it and doing their business on it, so what’s the use?
These days, the girls’ Christmas lists just include money and gift cards so they can shop for themselves. I don’t fight mall traffic or stand in line for Beanie Babies, Tickle Me Elmo or Furby. There are no packages hidden under drop cloths in the garage. I haven’t wrapped one single gift this year. No reason to charge the video camera to record the excited faces on Christmas morning.
Sound kinda depressing?
Not at all. I’ve traded frenzied shopping, lists and lines for time. More time with loved ones, especially my girls, whose time with us slips away too quickly. More time to relax and enjoy the season, to pause and reflect on why we celebrate Christmas.
Yesterday I did nearly half of my shopping in about 15 minutes’ time. That must be some sort of record, right? There are a couple of gifts to buy, but I won’t be stressed, hurried or frazzled. I’ll enjoy the cool weather, the decorations and the Christmas carols on the radio.
I’ve learned to embrace the changes that come with each new season of life, even as I look back misty-eyed on years past. It’s not like that anymore, but it is like this. And this is amazing.
How have your holiday celebrations changed through the years?
I turned 51 a couple of weeks ago. I like birthdays. And no cancer survivor in their right mind complains about getting another year older.
It’s kind of like a lopsided baseball game — even though the winning team is far ahead, they still try to cross home plate one more time. You can certainly win the game without the insurance runs, but they do make the victory a little more secure. At 51, I’m 11 runs ahead, which is a pretty nice lead.
A few random birthday reflections:
My family doesn’t even try to put all those candles on my birthday cake anymore; i just get the big number candles. I think they believe it would be dangerous otherwise.
It’s fun to watch my younger friends freak out when I tell them I finished my masters degree before they were born.
It’s cool to see the look of surprise when younger people realize I know how to work a computer and can type a text message just as fast as they can.
It’s good to have an excuse for being absent-minded and scatterbrained, which I’ve always been anyway. Now I can just remind people that I’m old. My kids buy it completely and leave me alone about the forgetfulness.
Every year is better than the last. The body may be falling apart, but my mind is full of the kind of lessons you only learn from experience. When I can remember them. See above.
I have a great life and am grateful for each and every one of these years. I love having adult and almost-adult children, especially when they turn out to be people you’d spend time with anyway. Marriage is better after 23 years than after one — anyone can be married for a year; 23 is a grand slam — and I’ve always wanted to hit one of those.
Note: I do know that baseball season is over. It’s the only sport I know enough about to make an analogy. And it’s only a few months until spring training starts.
