Nostalgia

As anyone who’s looked at my blog lately knows, I've been feeling a bit melancholy and nostalgic. Much in my life is in flux. The most transformative experience in my life—becoming a mother—is heading into a new phase as my babies all prepare to fly away from the nest I built for them.

Part of my nostalgia is because I am grieving. I’m taking hold of my most treasured mama moments and grabbing onto them to help me further etch them into my heart.

• I have many memories of my oldest son, because every experience with him was brand new. I remember nursing him, and I remember rocking him and singing to him one night when he just wouldn't sleep. But my most treasured memory with him was when he was ten years old and fell asleep on my lap while we were watching TV. I remember thinking, “Oh, this is nice. I don’t remember the last time he fell asleep on me.” And then I realized that this would most likely be the last time he ever fell asleep on me. A few years later, when my son was in high school, he fell asleep with his head on my lap when he was sick. I was so grateful to experience that moment. Is it wrong when  a mom is glad when her kids are just a little bit sick because they want her around to take care of them? He is working on a certificate that will prepare him to pursue an engineering degree. At 20, he still lives at home—but as his friends move out on their own and his siblings are getting ready to leave, he is talking about moving out as well and I don't expect him to be here much longer.
• With my younger son, I most remember when we lived in the St. Louis area. We had a split-level house, with a deck facing east, toward a farm field. Every morning, I would get up at 5, brew coffee, and then go sit on the deck to watch the sunrise, with me wrapped in a blanket and drinking my coffee. At some point, my early-rising son started to join me. Every morning, he and I would be bundled up together, cuddling and watching the birth of the day. This child nearly died at birth, and then again when he was ten days old. Both times, I felt God’s hand holding him through the crisis. Every morning as the sun rose, I thought about how my son almost didn't live, and I was so grateful to have him there on my lap. He is wrapping up his senior year in high school and preparing to enter the Air Force. Once again, I will wear the burden of worrying about him, wondering if he will still be alive when I wake up in the morning.
• I don’t have as many specific moments with my daughter—probably because there are so very many of them. We are very close, and we are better friends than I ever hoped we could be. Mostly, I think about our monthly chocolate shopping outings on the first day of her period. That has become such a treasured outing. She isn't sure where she will go to college, but she is working hard and getting ready to move out and forward. She is a strong young woman with an incredible sense of social justice, but I’m not quite ready for her to go. Her departure will probably be the hardest for me to bear.

Part of my nostalgia has also been about reminding myself of who I was before I had children. I need to latch on to those pillars of my life if I am to keep from falling apart when my babies leave. I've been thinking more about the things that shaped me in high school and college, and I've been spending more time and effort tending to my marriage. I need all those things to be stronger as I head into this new phase. It’s sort of like pregnancy and labor pains, in that I’m preparing for the birthing of my children into adulthood.

I’m remembering my pregnancies, filled with excitement about the future and wonder about the new lives I was carrying. I’m drawing on that now, as I think about the wonderful young adults my children have become and the journey of life that is still ahead of them. I treasure the fact that I get to witness this new phase of my children’s lives. But that isn't going to keep me from wanting to hold onto my babies for just a little bit longer.