Baby Steps

In baby steps she is leaving me.

Oh, I know she won’t ever leave. My heart is a sealed vault full of infinite love and space for my child.

But she is leaving.

In an effort to finally establish order in her room across the hall from us it became easier to set up shop temporarily in the spare bedroom in the basement. I have a feeling she will not return to her old room. 

The closet is mostly bare. So many empty hangers, the clothes sifted through, scrutinized by having hard talks with self about the current realities and styles. I chose this? What was I thinking? It doesn’t fit. Will it ever fit ever again? 

Sorting of the books seems like a potential heartbreaker. Keep them! I wanted to shout. But she was laser-focused and yet my mama’s heart was relieved to note she had a heart too. The Harry Potter collection intact and standing sentinel on her shelf. Classics, favorite books from different phases of life, reminders of her self and all her iterations of self. I am imposing that on her. I am giving her experience words, something I cannot do but I am anyway. I just know I did the same. I still do. Sometimes you will lose yourself and it’s good to have a path home. This is what I want to say but do not. I find mine in books. I can look at each spine and remember who I was or who I am now and link the two by remembering what came first and what lead to the next thing. It’s why I always have a copy of I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings. It’s about finding voice. I found this book when I was 12. I still have it as a reminder, a golden path home. I want to tell her all of this, but I do not. It’s her time now, a time for self-discovery.

On the top shelf of her closet stand 30 Nutcrackers, various styles, all bright if not a little creepy. Am I the only one who finds Nutcrackers a bit creepy? The years are scratched on the bottom in black or silver Sharpie. Each year, a different character, a different cast, a different role. Out loud she says, “I don’t know how I feel about these.”

Of course. Isn’t that life? Not sure of how you feel? It gets twisted. I should be sentimental, but I am not. But maybe I am not quite ready to part with them? It’s ok. No decisions have to be made. I mean, you are leaving, but not for good. Here is where I have to tread lightly. She is an all-or-nothing sort of girl. This is good for making high academic achievements, good for diving far into a hobby, good for making a clean break. As a mom, I have always been trying to steer her a little closer to the middle. “You aren’t moving out forever August 21st. You will need a home base. These can stay. We can decide how it feels at Christmas when you are no longer dancing. Feelings shift and change. It’s ok.”

She relaxes as the weight is lifted...no decisions have to be made today. And so they remain lined up, gathering dust, uncertain of their roles in the next act.

The spare bedroom was a clean slate. She set her room up neatly, as a way of imagining how she’d like to live with a fresh new start. As she purged her old room, a new way was taking shape. Amidst of all the discoveries (why do I have so many empty bags and boxes?), a new idea of self was forming.

My mother’s voice wanted to exclaim, “Your old room COULD have been like this new room the whole time!”

But duh. I know how hard it is to see the forest for the trees. Sometimes you just have to leave to see what can be. It takes time to understand what was and what could have been and it’s all ok. She doesn’t need my sadness masked as irritation. She doesn’t need my throbbing and aching heart. 

A few nights ago, she experienced something really difficult. Bob woke me to share that she needed me.

I went downstairs and she was so sad and disappointed in herself. I was steady and strong. I was equal parts amazed at myself and not surprised at all. Because every mother is Joan of Arc, born to lead their child straight into the heart of themselves. That is, if you are willing to listen more and talk less. If you are willing to watch and learn with them and from them.

I have been up for it all.

I wrapped my arms around her. I let her cry. I whispered all the stuff we’ve been learning together through the years. I remained unphased by her humanity and grateful she let me be with her in her pain.

Later she thanked me. Later she said, “I love you mom.”

And so that is what remains for me. I am in her heart too. I am there to remind her of herself when she needs me to.

She’s downstairs now. She is imagining her new life, a new version of herself. The dust bunnies and cobwebs and piles of the future still sit waiting for what will be. What remains and what to take are still very much in question.

I am not ready and I am. I was born to do this.