Empty Nester

My step-dad took all the ancient VHS tapes I had of Matthew’s early childhood and painstakingly put them on cd’s for my ex-husband and I. It’s a gift that I will always treasure. I finally had some time alone last night and decided that it would be a wonderful opportunity to take a stroll down memory lane. As I sat back and replayed glimpses of my little boys first birthday, his favorite crocodile xylophone, his red swing tied to the big oak out back, the stone pile he would play for hours on, flashbacks of the Teletubbies, visions of my former family and the red maple tree in my front yard that I loved so much, I was overwrought with pain and sadness. It sounds ridiculous that instead of seeing that miraculous little face on my TV and smiling and rejoicing at his existence, I began sobbing; uncontrollably. I have realized that when you can cry like that, in the presence of no one, you know it’s more than nostalgia beating up on you. It’s a force far greater.

It all came back to me…the pain, the guilt and the anguish of my 1^st marriage. I think it has less to do with who my ex-husband is as a person but more to do with the idea of the dream I so desperately tried to build, disintegrating before my eyes. I thought I would be married to the same man forever. I thought I would have more children. I thought I would grow old in that little house on the corner. And I thought the family I had grown to love as much as my own, would forever be at my side. Everything changes, this I know. Some by our own choosing and some by some predetermined bend in the road we hadn’t expected. But we are supposed to leave the past in the past, right? At times I don’t know how to leave things in the past when the face of my child, is my past. But without harping too long on all my mistakes or the insurmountable “what ifs” of my past life, I came to one overwhelming, wine induced conclusion. I was suffering from the empty nest syndrome. The problem is that, my son is only 12 years old.

The empty nest syndrome is usually characterized by your last child leaving home, for college, for marriage or any other amazing thing they are meant to experience. As I have mentioned before, my first child is my only child and although he is only 12 and still living under my roof, I feel with each passing day a surge of his independence that I am ill equipped to face.  I know how fast time passes when you have children. They go from diapers to college in a flash and I fear that I will come apart at the seams when my baby bird flies away. I so long for him to be that little boy again and although I know I cannot keep him from growing up, I wish more than anything I could. If nothing else, I wish I was better prepared for the wonderful things he has in store. I do my best to let him have his independence, to be the young man that he needs to be, but I am scared to death. When Matthew was little I was terrified that he would take a tumble down the stairs or run out in the road when I turned my back. Now I worry about some girl breaking his heart or him not being able to fulfill each and every dream that he desires. It’s a funny thing; bittersweet, actually. As a parent you want your children to grow up and live a life that you can be proud of; that they can be proud of.  It’s a parent’s way of knowing they did a good job in raising their children. But on the other hand, once Matthew flies the coop, so to speak, I am scared that I will no longer know who I am. I will always be his mother but my role will surely change. It’s changing now. He will not need me the way he did when he was younger and I fear I will not know my place in the world. Being a mother is all I ever wanted to be and in a way, I feel that title will be stripped from me. It’s simply a matter of time.

For now, I have put away the movies of my child. I am not ready for that stroll down memory lane. Maybe I will do it tomorrow, next week or even next year when the pain of  him growing up doesn’t sting so badly. I can’t help but think that this emotional need I have to keep Matthew with me is my own psychological malfunction that serves no purpose. I am convinced that surely as the sun will rise, my son will grow up, and maybe, just maybe, I will too.