I have always said that I never liked teenagers, even when I was one. I'm regretting that statement now. I guess you could say it was a little over dramatic. Not that I regularly tend towards the over dramatic...OK, maybe a little.
But now my oldest child is a teenager, and I think that statement, among others, is causing problems around here. So I would like to set the record straight: I do like teenagers. I mean, they are people after all, and I like people.
I think I am just having a problem letting go of my little boy. It sounds weird to say that because my little boy has been a pretty independent kid for quite sometime. He was riding his bike to school with friends by second grade. And all through elementary school, he wouldn't even let me see his homework because he was afraid I might try to help him with it, and he "didn't need help!" (He really didn't. He's as smart as a whip.) And he swore he never missed me when he came home from week long camping trips.
Where has the little boy gone that had to be returned to me early when his grandparents took him on a vacation to Colorado? Where is the boy that insisted he would buy the house right next door to us and take me on his honeymoon because he wanted to be with me always? He is right here. At this very moment, he is asleep in our basement. And, I think that is what makes it all so very hard. He is still here. I have approximately 3.7 years until he packs up and leaves. But it feels like he is not my little boy anymore. He is becoming his own person.
And yet, he will always be mine. I read something this morning in some random place that had nothing to do with children or teenagers and I started to cry. It said: "Just because something is no longer within your reach doesn't mean it's no longer yours." The author spoke of keeping pieces of our lives in our hearts.
It is what I need to do. I need to keep the pieces close. The pieces that he doesn't remember, or remembers differently. The pieces that we share. I need to know that it is OK that things are changing because that is how things are supposed to be. I need to be here for him like I was when he was first learning to walk. After letting go of my fingers and taking those first steps, his range widened every day as he toddled away and back again. I read somewhere that it is what toddlers do. They check back in with their parents often as they explore the world around them. We are their reassurance, their safety. I need to remind myself that he is not gone, his range has just widened and will get wider still, but I hope he will always check back. I hope Kimball knows he will always find love and acceptance here...and laughter and comfort and someone who has loved him since before he can remember. Someone who hopes that even if we aren't close enough to physically touch, we will always be within reach.
