And One By One I Release Them Into The Wilds

I am just in from my morning walk with the dogs, thoughts and emotions swirl in my mind much like the milk I stir into my tea as I sit down to write, it’s hard to tell where tea ends and milk begins. This feels strangely familiar, like being a mother, where do I begin and end after having children, but back to the dogs and I. As the three of us pass along the lake, I stop to take a moment to watch the sun patiently work its way through a sky packed thick with clouds. Upon completing its task, those rays of sunshine, white and gold, dance brilliantly on the water. There is something beautiful, magical and inspiring about this dance.

I am not sure what is was about the sunlight on the water that triggered a memory, but suddenly I found myself back in time. Back to a day almost thirty four years ago. The day I brought my first born son home from the hospital. He was two weeks late, eight pounds and fifteen ounces. He was pink and round with beautiful brown eyes and a large bald head that resembled the most perfect of Halloween pumpkins. He was absolutely perfect and I couldn’t believe that they were allowing me, ME, to take this precious child home. Who in their right mind would allow this? Should I not have to pass a test, an inspection of some sort?

I was just twenty one years old and had never held a baby for more than a moment before my own son entered my life. I was terrified and in awe all at the same time. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with him once I had him home. Sure I knew the basics, I was supposed to feed, change and bathe him. Keep him warm, keep him safe from harm, which would prove harder than one might imagine, but what about the other stuff? Somehow I was supposed to take this tiny human and deliver him into adulthood when I was barely there myself.

I flash forward in my mind’s eye to those first few days after bringing Michael home from the hospital. I am sitting on my cheerful, flower patterned chesterfield, dog at my feet. The sun is shining brightly, its’ golden rays sneaking in through the open window flooding the room with a soft early morning light and warmth. The birds are singing cheerfully, rejoicing in this new life I have created and now brought home. As for me, I am not cheerful or rejoicing. I am completely and utterly exhausted. I feel confused, alone and numb as I start my journey into motherhood. I am already beginning to feel the weight of what kind of mother I will be, we are a week into the journey. As I gazed into my sons eyes filled with such innocence and promise I felt compelled to share my truth with him, that I had no fucking idea what I was doing. In my most soothing of voices I delivered the bad news to him. I was going to make mistakes, probably lots of them. I assured him that no matter how many mistakes I made, I would always love him and try my best. I begged him to grasp this knowledge never minding that he was only days old, I trusted that he was a gifted child and could comprehend. Was there another choice?

And then right on cue there was a knock on my front door. It was the Public Health Nurse and she was there to check up on us. Perhaps the people at the hospital had come to realize their mistake in allowing me take the tiny human home after all. I tried to be stoic, strong and appear to have it all together when she asked me how it was going. I knew I had to say it was great, that is was awesome being a new mother. How could it not be, I had given birth to the perfect Gerber baby, but even as I forced the lie “I am fine” from my lips I knew my eyes would betray me, and betray me they did. Tears began to run down cheeks, soon those tears turned to a cascading waterfall that in spite of my Herculean effort I was unable to stop. The Public Health Nurse looked deeply into my eyes. I could tell in an instant that she saw me and that she understood. I was not her first nor would I be her last young mother filled with fear and self-doubt. She took me into her arms and just held me as I bawled my eyes out. And when the well of tears had finally run dry she once again looked deeply into my eyes and said with the tenderest of voices “Honey, you have just had a C-Section, you have a newborn baby and you’ve not had a good night’s sleep in a week. It’s absolutely impossible that you could be fine” In that moment of brutal honesty I felt something shift, something settle. I felt hope rise within me and then we both burst into uncontrollable laughter.

I continued to walk along the lake. Ever vigilant that my recently acquired rescue dog Bailey does not chase the deer, or squirrels, or the California quail who may have young ones of their own. It is not lost on me that in preparation of my youngest son leaving home I acquired a dog that I knew would come with issues and require training. What else could I do? Its’ official I am an empty nester. The last of the baby birds has flown the nest. And just as I was so unsure how to navigate the journey of motherhood all those years ago, I now find myself just as unsure how to navigate this chapter. The part of the stories where little boys with dirty hands and faces run through the house leaving a trail of souvenirs from the day’s adventures behind them has come to a close. One by one they have been released into the wilds.

When I had sons in constant need of something from me, something that only I seem to be able to offer in spite of the fact that they have fathers, I knew who I was. I was Michael, Derek and Colton’s mother. I had a title. I had a role and seemingly endless duties and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. From the time I was a young girl I always knew I would have children. I defined myself by my relationship with my sons. If my sons were happy and healthy I was a good mother. If my sons were angry with me because we couldn’t agree on the rules of engagement for this game called life, I felt like a bad mother. As they grew and began to need me less, seemingly only for food, rides, money or to practice their debating skills with regards as to what time they had to return to the nest that evening I tried to branch out, diversify myself.

I tried a stint as a volunteer with Saint John’s Ambulance, I thought administering first aid to others might fill that motherly need for me but it didn’t. I became an adventure athlete and member of my local Search and Rescue team. That definitely filled a void but at my core I knew who I was. Mother to my sons which meant that when I was away racing or rescuing I felt guilty for not being at home and when at home I longed to be away having adventures, saving lives. So basically I felt constant guilt for not being who I was, thought I should be or wanted to be. I tried to be a better wife but failed at that in spectacular fashion and added yet another divorce to my resume. Mother was the only title that ever really felt like a good fit in spite of my constant worry and fear if I was doing it well.

As I watched my sons grow it was becoming increasingly clear I was doing my job well enough that the day would come when they would fly the nest. If I am to tell the truth on some days that day could not come soon enough. On other days the thought of them leaving felt so unbearable I pushed that thought away and locked the door behind it. I was clear in my role and my job, “to raise men, not boys” while somehow encouraging and supporting them to grow into who they were, not who I wanted them to be. Very early into my parenting career I was given a poem by the poet Kahlil Gibran. I think that without these words of wisdom I may not have completed the task that lay before me.

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness; For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Somehow I completed the task of taking those tiny humans and delivering them to adulthood. There may have been times along the way where they kicked and screamed but here they are, grown, responsible and living life on their terms. And now upon doing so I find myself pondering “what’s next for me?” Who am I now?

You see I have come to realize that for some women, like myself, once we become mothers we become a GMO product. A Genetically Motherized Organism. The very fibre of our being becomes altered. We can no longer turn on the evening news and see a child crying half way around the world because their lives have been blown apart by a bomb and not feel their terror and their pain. We cannot see or hear of a mother who has lost her child and not have our hearts break alongside with hers. When we see a mother who rejoices in her child’s accomplishment no matter how large or small we rejoice with her. When we see a mother struggling with an unruly child in a public place we look at her with compassion, we’ve been there as well. We understand her love, her fear, her frustrations, her pain and her pride for we to have felt those same emotions. There is no way back to the women we were before and truth be told none of us would go back even if we could. To be called mother is a badge of honour, to be a mother is to do the most sacred of work.

So each of us we will have to determine for ourselves what we want the next chapter to look like. Who we will now become. How to balance the taste of bitter and sweet. How to be proud that they no longer need us. How not to feel sad and empty that they no longer need us. How to hold on and how to let go, all at the same time. On good days I find this task easy, on other days I notice myself as I struggle and I have to remind myself that these are not the same boys who crashed their bicycles, set stuff on fire, and snuck out bedroom window in the middle of the night. They now walk their path and only they can choose how to navigate that path. I find comfort in knowing that they will navigate it well with the lessons they learned along their journey, and more likely than not from the lessons learned by breaking my rules. I now understand that breaking the rules was necessary, rejecting ideas that I hold dear are necessary as well. This is the path to discovering who they are, without their mother telling them. I can relax and trust their path, with pride because I recognize they are in fact men not boys, my mission accomplished, successfully. It is now me as well who is free to fly, not just them.

So what to do with all the free time that I so desperately wished I had when my sons were young? Who will I become now that I finally have the freedom to explore my heart and soul’s desires without attaching what the kids want or need to that? For me I cannot yet answer those questions but I do know that I feel a strong desire to be the absolute best, newest version of myself. To be a kind, loving, and supportive wife to my husband. To be a source of wisdom for my sons when on occasion they do still ask for guidance and not a moment before. To enjoy the company of my grandchildren because my heart overflows with love for them, and they most generously offer me a chance to be young at heart again, to experience the world with the same sense of wonder they do. To help, honour and support other women as they transition from one chapter to the next in their own lives. To plan and take more of those adventures I longed for and do so free of guilt. To enjoy the morning sun as it fills my living room with golden rays and warmth as I indulge in a new book. To spend more time in nature walking my dogs, to savour the moments where I am free to watch the sun rise and set on the mountains, and dance so brilliantly on the lake.

And for now I realize this is enough….