Yakima Mom

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Archive for the tag “letting go”

Eighteen

Our daughter is turning 18 this weekend. Eighteen.

I helped her vote last night. Her graduation tassel came today. This time next year, I will be trying to ignore the K-shaped hole in our home that will be left when she goes off to school.

I feel like I should be doing better; I’ve done this before. Her older brother is now a junior at university. I hardly ever see him. I still miss him terribly, but I survived, and no longer spend my days wondering what he’s doing.

I guess I was thinking this time wouldn’t be so hard.

K and I had a tough couple of years… too many arguments, too many days in which my attempts at conversation were met with monosyllables, sometimes even just grunts. For more than a year, she was locked behind a wall I just couldn’t penetrate, leaving her alone and depressed and me bewildered and resentful.

We got help, and about six months ago, I began getting back my girl. Now she makes me laugh daily. Her humor can be cutting and dry, and she can be wickedly sarcastic, blunt, and opinionated, but, well, she’s 18, and I love her to death.

Of course I’ve loved her all along—she is, after all, my baby girl—but as the days tick by bringing the inevitable leaving of the nest, I want to cling to the little girl she was, and this new young woman that she’s become. I just got her back from behind that wall, and I’m not ready for her to go. I want to be silly and laugh with her about the weird thinkengs she finds hysterically funny. I want to dance with her and hang out with her, just a little while longer.

But.

I’m still not sure how it happened, but in the blink of an eye, my baby became 18.

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Mama 2

My house is a mess. I am remodeling the kitchen with the money left to me from Mom. Of all things to spend it on, I know she would be very pleased with this, as we plotted and planned for years what I might someday do with the space. She is happy.

Saturday

I have watched two people leave this place followed by their families who look drained and hollow. I thought yesterday would be the day. She is tough.

 There was a ladybug in a hospital window earlier this week. I don’t think the window could even be opened, and I wondered how she found herself there, in a CCU conference room. I watched her for a bit before I got her to crawl onto my hand and then took her down the stairs and outside. It took a few seconds to get her to leave me and climb onto some flowers I offered. And I thought… This is something.

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I have just about finished the obituary. There are a few early details I just don’t know, like when my parents moved from new York to Alaska, where they settled in Alaska, and what my deseaced brother’s middle name was.  

Here are some new things I do know: The human body can go a week without any calories. Eye drops in your mouth can help prevent the formation of saliva. Seasickness patches behind the ear can too. When people have a head injury, or even Parkinson’s or Alzheimers, they can appear very close to death and then sort of improve a little bit. Apparently it may have something to do with the mental part of letting go. Mom is going with this last on a lot.

 

 

 

 

Untitled

There is no title for this post. It is too scattered, too random.

The neighbor “Boy” is playing his guitar in his garage. He’s 17. He thinks his future career is in music.

The chords-especially the long low ones- vibrate through my windows, nearly an acre away.

I don’t mind.

He is 17. His gorgeous blonde hair is dyed black. He has big dreams.

I have pictures of him when he is three or four, digging in the dirt with our boys. Cherry juice smeared across their faces.

Our oldest son is in New Orleans. He’s gone on an “Immersion;” a school-based service trip.

He’ll be gone all week. He leaves for University in just a few, short months.

Our daughter is on the couch, doing homework. She’s disappointed because I won’t take her driving right now.

She’s 15. She already drove 45 minutes today. I say I’m done for the day, I am relaxing now.

She says I can relax while she drives.

Ha.

I am feeling like I have missed something… that I’m not quite the parent that I believed I was.

I am not as good as I thought I was.

I’m sorry. I DID say this was pretty random.

This letting go is so hard.

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