“What are you thinking?” I asked Henry.
We were taking a last hike before he heads back to college tomorrow, climbing up the back side of North Pack on a perfect early autumn morning.
“Oh, nothing much,” was his reply. “Sometimes it’s nice to just walk in the woods and not think about anything at all.”
My own mind, of course, was racing down the trail ahead of my feet, tumbling into the afternoon, considering what we would do for the rest of the day, what I should make for dinner, how we could make this last weekend of family togetherness feel special.
“Henry is already a yogi,” my yoga teacher said to me five or six years ago when she first met him. He had never done a downward dog; what she meant is that he is possessed of — was perhaps born with — the calm, the kind of inner quiet, that most of us spend years, and lots of time and energy, trying to achieve. When he walks in the woods, he just walks in the woods. Yesterday, as sunlight filtered through the trees and summer drew to a close, his companionable silence was the gentle reminder I needed to do the same. To let the thoughts and plans and voices in my head fall silent for a while, and to be fully present right where I was instead, taking a hike with my son.
His plane leaves at 6:30 tomorrow morning. As I type these words, he’s upstairs, packing the final load of his clean laundry into his suitcase. Tonight, we’ll have an early meal, our last as a family til Christmas time. We’ll say what we’re feeling grateful for, chat at the table for a while, head to bed by ten. And in the darkness of dawn I’ll hug him one last time and send him back into his other life. The good-byes are hard, still. So I’m grateful for right now, for every moment that we are here under this roof together. And I’m taking a cue from my son — not thinking about it all too much, just paying attention.
Katrina, this is so beautiful. It makes me think of goodbyes yet to come with my own daughter and reminds me to be present now while she is still a little girl. I know the years will go by fast. I need to show up for the moments. To cherish them. Hold them. Thank you!
Where does the younger generation get this calm? I do not recall my generation being so advanced emotionally although we felt ahead of our parents. I am so glad for you that you can share this closeness. It seemed as if in the 70s, this sort of relationship was taboo. I am so glad that society's values promote continued closeness of parent child. I was outdoors writing cards and heard a girl walk by talking on her cell phone, she saw that it was her mother on the cell phone and told her friend "It's my mother, I gotta go…what are you talking about? That would be rude." Took me aback since she was telling her friend that her mother was her priority. Changed times.
My son left for college a week ago – he's a freshman, and he is our last child to go off to college. It was hard five years ago when our daughter left for college, and it is just as hard now when our son left; only this time, we have no children left at home. As I told my husband, it's been almost 24 years since we were without children – seems forever ago, and yet just yesterday. The good-byes will always be hard for me, but I am grateful that both of them are doing what they like and are independent and making the most of their own lives. I can't ask for more, but the tears still come.
Thanks for these posts – I so appreciate them, and I so appreciate you.
Thanks for sharing another beautiful moment and reflection, Katrina.
Such a special time you shared with your son while you were walking. There time at home goes so quickly. I too miss my boys who have left the nest. Best wishes to you and your family.
Maybe that's where he goes when he's playing music? Putting one keystroke out front of another, in time.
I hope that my children have such a sense of peace. You've obviously done well!
Love this post. Makes me think of the hug I gave my 17 year old last night. We'd been apart all weekend, as we went off to NH and he stayed back (with his sister) for friend gatherings. It was nice, in a way, the quietness of 'only two', but I realized, the second I saw him again yesterday, that I had truly missed him deeply. He was in a relaxed, easy mood, even though his last first day of regular school was just twelve hours away. I hugged him twice before he went up to bed. So glad to have my arms around him for one more school year.
Hugs to you too, my friend.
Judy
Thank you for putting into words the feeling I have at the end of every summer as my daughter readies herself for college. She is in her senior year in college and I know that I should be happy that she still spends part of her summers at home. I need to live in the moment and enjoy out time together–which is shopping or getting pedicures! I love the thought of knowing she is safe under my roof. I am very happy to know that I am not the only one who feels this way!
The goodbyes at the beginning of every semester are always tear-filled but rapidly give way to a sense of knowing that my daughter is doing what she should be in life, as am I. Blessedly, she is very happy at school and knows that the safe haven of home and family is waiting for her whenever she wants to return. It is truly, as you said, Katrina, her "other life." Our son graduated in December 2008 and returned home to pursue his career and save money. He now contemplates graduate school clear across the country, and I find that after having had him back for 1 1/2 years, I am not sure how I will react when he leaves once again, perhaps for the last time, a man in his own right. I cherish whatever family time we can pull together and try to keep myself in the present – lives change constantly, and while we may never share things in exactly the same way again, there will be new experiences – children-in-laws, grandchildren, retirement. The trick is to enjoy them as they happen and live them to the fullest, while keeping the wistfulness of passing time at bay.
Thanks to all for sharing your feelings – it is such a comfort to me to know we are all in this together.
While I sometimes see a little Buddha and a bit of natural yogi in my kids as well, I so appreciate your words—they are also part of being present to the moment if you're a writer (or a reader); if you're waving good-bye and not heading into the sunrise. I can still recall blithely going off to college and seeing how hard this was for my parents (and not for me). Soon the hiking boot will be on the other foot and while I'll try my best to be present to that moment, I'm already crying a little in anticipation. Your authenticity and presence to life's rhythms offers connective spirit, so thank you.