For my Parents

I packed a box today.

And as I did I was reminded of a reality that’s been slowly sinking in over the summer.

I will, in all likelihood, never live with my parents for any extended amount of time ever again.

I have said some form of that phrase in numerous conversations and varying emotions. It has been said with excitement, happy that I am spreading my proverbial wings and embarking onto what must inevitably be the next chapter of my life. But it has also been said with stark terror, laced with panic as I consider leaving the shelter of the nest for the last and most permanent time.

I’m such a homebody. When I broke up with my boyfriend last fall, I could be found curled up on my parents’ couch, waiting for them to come home on a Saturday night. And my ex knew exactly where to find me. He knew that, in my most vulnerable moment, I just wanted my parents.

I didn’t intend to go to school in my hometown, just a short fifteen minutes from my parents, but I did. And I loved it. They kept me well-supplied with food, fixed my car, moved me in and out each spring and fall, and kept me afloat in difficult times. As I said, it was to home that I turned when I ended the most difficult relationship of my life. They listened, encouraged, protected, and rebuilt what had been so broken in me.

I called my mom once when it was all simply too much and I just needed to hear her voice. During the course of the conversation, I shared a lot of things about my ex relationship that I had previously hidden from her. It was, for me, simply a moment of sharing and of letting go. But after that conversation, I got a card in the mail each week, rebuilding me, and reaffirming that they loved me and were always there for me.

It’s simple things like that. I don’t think they’ll ever know how much those meant to me. How deeply it touched me that my words were taken to heart.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m in a reflective mood. This back-to-school season has got me pondering lasts and firsts, changes and adventures, losses and gifts.

And so, yes. I am losing something. It is the last of something. It is a change from what has always been.

But it is also a first, a gift, an adventure.

Here’s what I mean. I think this time is a strange one between parents and children. The children are, for all practical purposes, adults. They have graduated high school, are nearly done with college, and have, at least hopefully, assumed most of the responsibility for their lives. Yet, they are still children. Still the sons and daughters of their parents, still the baby girls and firstborn sons. And in many ways, they always will be.

And so this transition to adulthood, this flying from the nest, is a loss and a change. And it is a difficult time. Children want to assert their independence and parents, as much as they understand it must happen, often react against it. They simply want to keep their children close. Fear of loss is a powerful thing.

This fear, this assertion, can often drive them apart. It is a classic case of miscommunication, of clinging and struggling, of misunderstanding, of terse words and hurt feelings. It is loss, loss of relationship, of communication. And it is tragic, really.

Because, quite simply, it doesn’t have to be. I honestly believe that such a time of transition can be beautiful.  It is, at least in my eyes, a transition from parenthood to friendship. For yes, we as children must always honor our parents, must always respect, always, in some ways, submit. But it is no longer parent and child. It is parent and adult. It is adult and adult, two lives, lived, connected, shared.

And this is the chance. The moment of truth. When children given a choice. No longer are they required to speak to, respect, or even acknowledge their parents. It is a moment of utter freedom, in which they choose what the course of that relationship will be for the rest of their days.

I guess in many ways, that’s where I’m standing. And in many ways, I’m simply really freakin scared. I don’t do well with change and I kind of want to be the baby chick that hides in the corner of the nest and never comes out again. I want to look at this as loss, as losing the shelter of my parents and going off alone.

But it’s not. It’s transition. It is adventure. It is gaining a new dimension of friendship with the people who gave me life and gave me a foundation. There was never a question whether or not I would maintain relationship with them here. Never. I simply cannot imagine my life without them.

But it’s still scary. It’s still hard to realize that our relationship is changing, that it is no longer up to them to support, protect and shelter me. It is for them to offer wisdom, advice, and friendship. A new kind of support, protection, and shelter. Not physical, but the support of advice, the protection of shared wisdom, and the shelter of their continuing friendship.