Almost 27 years inside the walls of a house I tried my best to make a loving home for my children. So many memories of chaos, learning, laughter, frustration, madness, love, pride, and growth. Today my home is quiet, I contemplate the ephemeral young years of parenthood. Though the house is filled with snapshots, portraits, furniture, and trinkets that we have collected over the years, it has never felt more empty than today. The silence is deafening as I sit here, beside myself.
Only a few short days ago my youngest approached us to share his good news that he had signed a lease on his first apartment just 3 weeks shy of his 21st birthday. He has been at home building up his career and trying to get on his own two feet. Every day I have watched him hustle toward his goals working two jobs to gain independence. I watch him move forward despite fear, meeting people with ease and bringing good new friends into his life; all of his friends both new and old, providing mutual respect and support.
I loved hearing him rush in and out of the home, hearing his laughter, listening to him sing while he played the guitar, and making messes in my kitchen. I knew this day was coming, and I tried not to rush it, encouraging him to save and take his time as we truly enjoyed having him home. His presence here has meant so much to me especially as I went through my cancer treatments just three short years ago. I sit here wondering that as the baby, the third child, did I love him enough? Did I give him enough of my time? Did I help him enough when he needed it? A strong feeling of inadequacy as a mother overwhelms me because the last three years I have spent focusing on myself as I fought cancer and the after-effects of treatment. Diagnosed during his senior year in high school, I just couldn’t provide the attention to him I had hoped to during his senior year. Did I do enough to make him feel valued as a person? Does he know how much he is loved? Did I push him too hard trying to ensure he stayed motivated? There were times we had heated discussions over household responsibilities and I tried, I tried to not to get frustrated because I didn’t want to push him out sooner.
As I walked past his empty disheveled room it left me speechless. His departure happened so quickly for us though he has been planning it for years. I suppose we are lucky to have had him home for two years longer than his siblings who left for college. He instead opted to put himself through real estate school. In that respect, I am lucky that he was with me longer than most parents get. I shouldn’t be sitting here crying on the living room floor trying to pull myself together knowing he won’t be sleeping here tonight in his childhood home; the home I made for my children, and yet I can’t stop my tears.
Nearly 27 years were spent in a whirlwind of living every waking moment for three other humans. Nursing them, nurturing them, doing our best to help them become independent, productive people who can build their own lives hopefully in happiness and success…In one day all of it rapidly came to a halt just as quickly as they entered our lives, and they don’t really need us much anymore. But being independent is what we taught them to be, right? That was our purpose as parents, right?
I remember the day that I left my own home, and I will never forget the look in my own mother’s eyes and the sadness in her expression. How difficult it was to drive away heading to a new city to build a new life. It felt as if I was slowly being torn away from my mom and dad as they stood in the driveway waving goodbye. It was painful then as it is now, and so here I sit not only knowing the pain that I felt as a young adult (I too the baby), leaving my own childhood home, but also knowing the pain my own parents must have felt when I left. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy for my son. I am proud of his growth and need for independence. He has always been so independent out of necessity, something I think comes with the territory of being the last child. You learn to do things faster because you’re watching your older siblings, but also because your parents have grown older, tired, and more relaxed with experience knowing that your children learn more than we realize under our guidance, support, and love.
September is hitting me hard. As the first days of fall come upon us and the sunlight changes to softer rays, the season slowly shifts to usher in the cold. As much as we long to continue living in our favorite season, we cannot; time moves us ever forward so we must step into the new seasons of our lives no matter how much we want to remain in the present. It is a bittersweet milestone experiencing the joy of your last child’s achievements along with a feeling of sadness that your home will now be empty of the children you worked so hard to protect, guide, and love daily for half your life. The joy of waking up to a full house, the bustling activity, and the constant chauffering are long gone. Time is so fleeting though we aren’t aware of it as we live it. We are merely trying our best to make good people and they are the best people. They are better than us. As parents that is the goal for which you strive.
My son is strong, intelligent, creative, motivated, compassionate, and loving and I know he will do well for himself. I love you so much my sweet Joshua as I love your siblings, Jared and Evelyn. You will always be my big, bouncing, baby boy. You came into the world ready to take it on and continue to do so with great enthusiasm. You and your siblings are a light in this world. You make me proud every day and I am grateful that God gifted you to me. Your father and I love you so much. Spread your wings and fly my love and live every moment fully.
Angela Navarette, M.Photog. CPP, Mother of 3 Amazing Adults
