I always weep at endings.
The end of the school year slays me every time.
More than any other ending, it marks time for me. The slash on the calendar is dark blood red. This ending has been earned. Yet I don’t want it.
The door closing feels heavy and even though I know I have no power to stop it, I feel like running toward it, asking nicely if it could take it’s time…close slowly…tenderly…give us a few more days.
The slamming seems final. And it is.
Another year of lunches and rides and notes and homework…the cycles of sports and choir and band and art…the friends that hurt and the friends that helped us heal…the joy of newness and the scary stuff…the failing and fumbling and the tears.
All the laughing and running and playing is dying down over here.
No more Barbie Jeep, no more sparkly streamers hanging from handlebars. No one wants to play on the slip and slide. I remember days of baby pools and strollers and swing sets…the messiness…the laughter…the living.
Star Wars figures have taken their place on the shelf…dusty and alone.
I’m wandering around the house trying to look busy (to who? I don’t know? The busy police?)…trying to be busy to take my mind off the ending. But I just wander…not really understanding how I feel.
I look at the bookshelf…a safe place to get lost for a while. The books mark our journeys from Junie B. Jones to John Green and I can’t seem to part with any. It’s like a living scrapbook of words that have fed our souls and kept us company. We will never have too many books. They are our friends…constant and reliable.
I just saw a friend who is moving in a week. She welcomed us when we moved into the neighborhood 11 years ago. We have had many a cup of coffee and a glass of wine while the kids played and the years passed. I love her. She was boxing up things and I was in her empty house and I just couldn’t take it. We both just stood there and cried. No words.
I always weep at endings.
The last of my kids finish up at elementary school this year. The adorable, loving, little, everyone knows your name elementary school. The place where they have taught and nurtured and loved my kids for 11 years. Talk about the end of an era.
We “Clap out” our kids at the end of school. All the parents line up and clap while the 5th graders march out. I think they should call it the “Cry out” for me. I’m anticipating weeping at that ending too. Hey! We should call it the clap and cry out…clapping and crying at the same time pretty much sums up motherhood.
Weeping seems bad, right? Like I’m unhappy. But I’m not. I swear.
I’m just confused.
How did I go from eagerly anticipating my first baby to having three kids out of grade school (and two in high school!)?
How did I go from spoon feeding peas to worrying about drinking and driving and dating?
My son said the other day that he “hates change”. He said, “Change is bad”.
Oh no I thought…I have to help him see change in a positive light…change is the only thing we know for sure will happen. We have to get used to it. We have to accept it. It’s not bad…right?
Maybe he thinks it’s bad because I’m over here crying looking at baby pictures. What have I done?
I specifically remember my mom talking to me about this. Many times. It’s an ending sure but it’s a beginning too…or it’s a beginning and it’s exciting and you are happy but the reason you are crying is because it’s an ending too…how many times over the years are we in that space…that in between…the ending and the beginning.
The sadness and the excitement…the saying good-bye and saying hello. It doesn’t even matter how many times…I always weep at endings.
I remember once I was crying on the phone to my mom during the college years…I was distraught…things were changing…I just had a break up…I was down. This is what she said to me…no joke…and it worked…”Honey, seriously, stop crying…wash your face, put on some lipstick, get a Diet Coke and Get out there.”
Diet Coke and lipstick…the cure all.
And now I’m the mom. I have to buck up and give the advice now.
Of course I can’t tell my son to put on lipstick. What’s the equivalent for a boy?
And telling them to have a Diet Coke seems archaic like I didn’t get the memo…so do I say…have an organic green smoothie? That doesn’t have the same ring to it.
How about this?
Change is part of life. It’s difficult and it’s okay to cry. When we cry, we know we are most alive because our heart is feeling things. When we are sad to move on it means we have loved where we have been and that is a gift. A treasure. You are building your story and God is moving you along as you become who you are meant to be. You take all of this with you. All of the memories, the people, the experiences, the feelings, the knowledge, the wisdom…you are like a sponge and you absorb it all. Things are changing yes and so are you – you are ready. Be grateful. Take a minute. Let the grateful tears fall…acknowledge that you are a little scared of something new…recognize that you were comfortable and that felt good. But part of life is getting comfortable being uncomfortable. Learning that you can do hard things. Trusting that all will be well. It’s time to move on now. You do not go alone. Dad and I are with you every step of the way. And God is with you…he knows what you need and He can’t wait to give it to you. Life is amazingly beautiful. Get out there.
Step joyfully into this new adventure.
I will be stepping out with you…clapping and crying all the way.
©2014 Sue Bidstrup, Great Big Yes™, All Rights Reserved