It’s so cold and I’ve got something inside this stomach that feels like war.
I’ve let go of many things this year; said good-bye to what I can control.
And then there’s letting go of you –
And there’s the agreement we make upon entering parenthood; saying “yes” to having the floor pulled out from under us for eighteen years or so and then to say good-bye.
Each passing month you would tell me, ‘don’t you worry-I’ve got a plan-and you’re not gonna like it.”
Your birthday came and went, summer slipped by too; and still, you had a plan.
Your plan, turns out, fell apart due to your enjoyment of things illegal.
Your birth – I can still see your face coming to the surface of the water, so ready to take your first breath.
You were the most peaceful baby/toddler/young child.
And in adolescence you exploded into the world, burst open the family doors and marched forward.
I’ve never seen such courage and determination.
So, what are your plans, i asked. I mean, didn’t you mention last month you would be moving in with your dad in February?
You said – well, i just said that because you said you were having a hard time setting me free.
Oh – (well then let me be clear) I say to him – I’m expecting you to move this February.
Oh – you say -Okay, well I’ll probably live with dad and work for a year.
I was so calm – it was the kindest way to ask my last child to move out.
(Did I really just ask him to move out?)
It wasn’t easy but it was time.
Oh, the war in my stomach, I guess that’s what letting go feels like.
There’s a tearing in the dna.
I will heal, and he will always be one of the bravest and most compassionate men I will ever know.