Mushheart Parents of the World
by Laurey Boyd
"For millions of years, in millions of homes,
A man loved a woman, a child it was born.
It learned how to hurt and it learned how to cry
like humans do . . .
I’m breathin in
I’m breathin out . . .
I'm achin
I'm shakin
I'm breakin
like humans do."
- David Byrne
Some time in late August my husband and I will be seeing our second child off to his first year in college. No biggie. Been there, done that. Piece of cake. We did it two years ago with our oldest. We're old hands at it now. But at the time, we didn't know if there really would be life after family separation, even in a case like this of healthy, longed-for, this-is-a-good thing separation.
So many years spent in nurturing and preparing a child had rendered us marathon runners intent only on crossing the ribbon and collapsing afterward. We would figure out how to pick up the pieces of ourselves later.
Our oldest child had been the proverbial prototype, both wonderful and difficult with a strong will that demanded our utmost participation and taught us our limitations early on. Raising her had been the most exhausting, faith-producing accomplishment of our lives and this was as much a rite of passage for us as for her. To release this one who had given us so much of both pain and joy was the right thing to do, and to convey anything other than full confidence in her future as an adult would be wrong. No, our worries and fears would be dealt with later.
Our job was to coax the nervous kitty out of the safe but limiting world of home, and into the unknown afterlife of self rule and determination, a world with no guarantees but great possibilities.When the big day arrived, we packed the minivan and drove five hours to the college. We moved boxes and luggage to the appointed dorm room and set up house in as calm and adult a manner as we could muster.
Couldn’t have The Child see that there was any hesitation on our part. Independence is good. Try it, you’ll like it. Trust us: you can do this. We busied ourselves and put off the inevitable leaving. While I made the bed with new linens and decorated the room to be as aesthetically pleasing and homey as institutionally possible, my husband set up the new computer on the built-in desk. The free music download that came with the computer started playing. The words stopped me. I reclined on the bed and listened.
"For millions of years, in millions of homes
A man loved a woman, a child it was born
It learned how to hurt and it learned how to cry
like humans do.
I’m breathin in
I’m breathin out . . .
I’m achin
I’m shakin
I'm breaking
like humans do."
While my husband and daughter were caught up in perfecting her computer setting, I took in the scene before me. It was as though we were performers in an ancient dance that we had mentally practiced for years and whose time was finally come and would be over quite quickly.
Soon we would hug, walk down to the parking lot and drive beyond sight. For now I would live in the moment. Part of me did not want to miss even the pain. The bittersweet lyrics provided the theme.
"I’m breathin in
I’m breathin out . . . “
When it was clearly time to go there was much crying. My husband and daughter clung to each other with the intense hurt that can only come from people who have been through the love/hate wrestling of wills and emerged strong in their bond. I saved my hurt for later and assumed the role of designated emotional driver. It would be okay. But I too felt the truth of the song:
"I’m achin
I’m shaking
I’m breaking
like humans do."
Maybe this second child's departure won't be so easy after all.