Just three and a half short years ago, I was wondering if I'd live long enough to baby my babies. They were almost four years and 18 months old when I was diagnosed with breast cancer and more than anything in those early cancer days, I feared for my life—which made me fear for theirs. Who would hug and kiss them, snuggle and cuddle them? Who would make their favorite snacks, pick out the best-fitting shoes, cut their little finger and toe nails, and dry their little boy tears when skinned knees and scary dreams made them cry? Surely, I was the only one who could stay home with them all day, the only one who could help them become social beings, the only one who could help them manage the days leading up to their solo journeys into the world. OK, I admit: their dad would do a pretty good job in these areas if left on his own. But I was—still am—selfish. I want to be front and center in their lives. Thankfully, three and half years later, I am.
Breast cancer hasn't taken me away from my boys—but something else threatens our togetherness. That something: Joey. It's not his fault he's separating from me. It's his age—he's seven.
Today, while driving into his elementary school parking lot, Joey said, "Mom, can you just drop me off at the curb tomorrow?" Gasp! I always walk him into his classroom, talk with his teacher, wish him a great day, and kiss him goodbye. A few months ago, I wondered if the kiss was a bit much for a first-grade boy. I asked Joey if it made him uncomfortable, and he told me it did not. Now, however, he has apparently decided the kiss is too much and so is my presence in his personal school space.
“Yes,” I told Joey. “I can drop you at the curb tomorrow.”
I knew this day was coming. And here it is. My baby is no longer a baby. He's growing up, becoming independent, plotting his departure from my grasp. It makes me sad. And it makes me happy, happy because I am alive and present and I get to watch my first-born guy wiggle his way out of my care. How sweet it is.
I have to tell you, I totally understand. My oldest son is 8 1/2 and he’s just pulling away from me in dribs and drabs (the PDA is not happening, for sure). While my 6 year old still climbs on my lap, rests his head on my chest and wants to kiss me on the lips (what a contrast)!
I feel bittersweet about it, but mostly thankful to God that we are around to watch our boys take these life steps, right?
Hi,
My baby was 22 months when I was diagnosed. He just returned from completing his freshman year at college. All 6′3″ of him leans over for a kiss whenever he says “hi” or “good-bye.”
As for the sadness about them not needing you the same way, I’ll just share that my longterm prognosis was terrible when my cancer recurred a second time 2 1/2 yrs after my original diagnosis. So when my kids pulled away and passed milestones, I was a little sad but mostly thrilled.
As I saw it, my purpose as a mother was to give them the love, confidence and tools to cope and grow…away from me and into their own lives.
I’ll also share that I love being an empty-nester. I love connecting with my adult children by phone, texting and in person. And I feel like I’m dating my husband all over again: candlelight dinners, long talks at night, etc.
Life is good.
Wendy
http://www.wendyharpham.com