Tomorrow I’m driving my youngest to East Lansing and moving him into his dorm. I know he’s thinking he’ll be back next summer. I’m thinking that too. I can’t help but remember, though, my mother, as she was loading me into the car with my cousin on my way to John Brown University. She looked at me with a tear in her eye and told me, “you know they say that when a boy goes off to college, he never really comes home again.” I remember laughing and saying that I would be home, but I realize, looking back, that she was right. I never looked at home the same, and the significance of that moment and that step largely eluded me at the time.
Emotions, for me, are running at the brim. Stress is high, (along with tuition) but mostly I’m numb. This has been a big year for my family. Big birthday, big anniversary, big wedding, college graduation, high school graduation and now this.
I’ve been mostly quiet on the writing front. When there was something springing forward, the energy has been lacking. If there’s energy, the inspiration is drown out by the business around me. While I discipline myself to write everyday, I sense that this period is a time to absorb life. To store every memory. Ponder every exchange between my son and I as well as his siblings. Banish regrets. Celebrate special times. Enjoy the moments we’re given, and give thanks for the moments gone by. Store them up until they are ready to come out.
There will be songs of joy and of sorrow. There will be songs of regret. There will be nostalgic songs, and songs of happiness. Sad songs, poignant songs, songs to celebrate the milestones, and songs that attempt to fill the emptiness of yet another room in our house. There will be many songs, but they wait, patiently, in the wings.
Right now at this moment, however, the only songs that come to mind are the songs of praise. Songs of thanksgiving. Songs of joy. The kind that streams down your face, wracks through your chest and then beams up and out through your cheeks. Songs of astounding humility for the being granted stewardship over a little boy who has always sensed the greater significance of his existence and the reason he was put here. The bigger picture of our lives. A little boy who often pictured himself in his older years, amazing his father who always thinks in the short term. A kid who at 6 years of age wondered why God made thunder, and then moments later pondered the fact that his children would have technology far beyond Nintendo.
I’ve marveled at his gift of seeing himself down the road, and now, that little boy has indeed arrived at a milestone down the path he has imagined so many times before.
I read a friend’s blog today who just lost his father. I lost mine a few months before that day I loaded up my Chevy Nova and my mother said goodbye in such a significant way. I’ve often thought about what he would have told me that day, had he lived a few months longer. I wonder because tomorrow its my turn to say something. Something significant. Something inspiring. Something that might give my son the presence of mind to grasp the importance of that moment.
What will I say to that little boy. The little boy who is so quickly bursting into manhood. The little boy who will leave tomorrow and will never really come home again.
Emotions, for me, are running at the brim. Stress is high, (along with tuition) but mostly I’m numb. This has been a big year for my family. Big birthday, big anniversary, big wedding, college graduation, high school graduation and now this.
I’ve been mostly quiet on the writing front. When there was something springing forward, the energy has been lacking. If there’s energy, the inspiration is drown out by the business around me. While I discipline myself to write everyday, I sense that this period is a time to absorb life. To store every memory. Ponder every exchange between my son and I as well as his siblings. Banish regrets. Celebrate special times. Enjoy the moments we’re given, and give thanks for the moments gone by. Store them up until they are ready to come out.
There will be songs of joy and of sorrow. There will be songs of regret. There will be nostalgic songs, and songs of happiness. Sad songs, poignant songs, songs to celebrate the milestones, and songs that attempt to fill the emptiness of yet another room in our house. There will be many songs, but they wait, patiently, in the wings.
Right now at this moment, however, the only songs that come to mind are the songs of praise. Songs of thanksgiving. Songs of joy. The kind that streams down your face, wracks through your chest and then beams up and out through your cheeks. Songs of astounding humility for the being granted stewardship over a little boy who has always sensed the greater significance of his existence and the reason he was put here. The bigger picture of our lives. A little boy who often pictured himself in his older years, amazing his father who always thinks in the short term. A kid who at 6 years of age wondered why God made thunder, and then moments later pondered the fact that his children would have technology far beyond Nintendo.
I’ve marveled at his gift of seeing himself down the road, and now, that little boy has indeed arrived at a milestone down the path he has imagined so many times before.
I read a friend’s blog today who just lost his father. I lost mine a few months before that day I loaded up my Chevy Nova and my mother said goodbye in such a significant way. I’ve often thought about what he would have told me that day, had he lived a few months longer. I wonder because tomorrow its my turn to say something. Something significant. Something inspiring. Something that might give my son the presence of mind to grasp the importance of that moment.
What will I say to that little boy. The little boy who is so quickly bursting into manhood. The little boy who will leave tomorrow and will never really come home again.
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