the summer of letting go

He was collecting seashells in the sun. Just as we’d collected them every day since we brought him to the beach as a child. When he was little, his fingers, tiny with toddler-sized abilities, clinched around a fist full of shells he’d gathered. His findings, though mostly sand, would hoist proudly into the air towards me. His face was illuminated with sheer joy, his mouth in a sweet, chubby smile with proud possibility. Now those fingers are long, his tanned shoulders are broadening like his dad’s, and he has muscles. Muscles. Wasn’t he just that little toddler on the beach? And the most important part is that he’s collecting those shells now for a girl. It’s sweet, really. In the kind of borderline-cheesy way that young humans can be. Never mind that this was once our thing. I mean, I didn’t invent seashells or the process of gathering them… but I would take him in his little bucket hat, and we would collect them every time we went to the beach. Together. His concentration fixated on those tiny gems in the sand, on and off, for hours. And here he is, searching on his own for a girl. It took me a few, squinting at him curiously as he dutifully searched, to realize his renewed interest in actual sea shells revolved around her and some adorable joke they had. And then it all made sense. A little bouquet of fresh shells in a jar when we arrived back home. Just for her. 

I took my middle child to her wellness checkup at the pediatrician a few days ago. Yes, they’re teenagers now, and yes, they still go. We haven’t quite found another doctor that we like as much, so why rush the transition? The doctor’s office even said as much. Cars played on a loop in the lobby, and it all came rushing back. It was his favorite movie when he was small. I’m pretty sure we just shamelessly kept it on repeat whilst in survival mode with three littles. I could still recite every single line and song.

I feel like I’m adapting well, and then a forgotten element from their childhood hits hard. I was suddenly blinking back tears. 

On the morning of his graduation, I’d cried like a baby quietly with the car parked in the driveway like any self-respecting mother of a graduate, and I thought, that’s it. I’m done. Surely, this is all I have. I just needed to get it out. I naively thought those feelings were it, building up to it all, and I was finally free of this torrent of emotions. We went straight from the whirlwind of graduation into a small trip with our family, then orientation. Suddenly, I was on campus with him, his roomies, and the other moms, talking about move-in days and class schedules. Then we were back, hitting the ground hard with work and life. 

I thought I could distract myself by hosting gatherings at the revolving summer door of our house, diving into a slew of work projects, and planning out his dorm room. As if finding the perfect vintage lithographic print of the moon for over his bed would make it all better. {Honestly, it helps.} Then I find the tiny sunglasses he wore as a baby in an old box, and I’m a mess al over again. Those Nerf bullets and Legos still magically appear in the bottom of a shoe basket or the back of a junk drawer. They’ve mostly cleared from our everyday lives until they make a rare re-appearance. I blink and wonder when that happened. 

I’m exhausted, just like I was when I had toddlers, but it’s because he has a later curfew. People tell me I should just go to bed because he’ll be out next year and I’ll be two hours away, so I should practice that now. But there I am, with my usual 9:00 bedtime, waiting for him past 12. Because honestly, I listen to too many true crime podcasts and I just can’t fall asleep until he’s back under our roof. And also, I’m pretty reasonable, but let’s have a few perimeters before we go completely feral, shall we? Someone should probably take away my access to Life360.

I want to dote on him with his recent wisdom teeth removal, but I realize he’s not that kind of patient, and my questions and ice packs can be a lot. I struggle with knowing when I’m being too much because, as with teenagers, one moment, I’m fine, and the next, I need to go away. To her credit, at least his special lady friend quietly told him to ‘be nice’ when I left the room, slightly deflated, with gauze in my hand. SIGH. A girl is telling him what to do, and he listens. It stings. She gets brownie points.

I’m going to snuggle the dog. She’s been needy lately, and I’m not mad about it. 

So, this is the summer of letting go. Of respecting those growing boundaries. I’m realizing as a first-time parent of a high school graduate that we’re all in a transition phase, and a lot is happening for us at once… from girls to curfews… and so much more. From a firstborn, me, who should totally get it, to my oldest child, it’s time to release those parental controls a little more. This summer is a process. An untethering that began a few years ago but has suddenly sped up as someone pressed fast-forward on the VHS tape of our lives. I’ve had enough therapy to realize that a lot of this isn’t about him at all. My own hangups are more about me, who I used to be, and taking it all in stride while I respect the person he’s becoming. I’ll still be his mom. But our relationship is changing. I think there’s an art form to this, and it’s imperative that we try to do it right. And to have a lot of grace so that we can grow from our mistakes when we don’t.

That’s part of loving him, too. Even though it’s the hardest.

So, while at the beach, when that realization hit me that he was, in fact, collecting those seashells for a special someone, Jamin and I rose from our beach chairs and joined in on the fun. He thought we were searching alongside him for our own bemusement the whole time, as if we wanted some, too. When we were finished, we placed our finds in the sand in front of him to add to his growing collection. He was a little surprised, and then he smiled in quiet appreciation.

It was a sweet reminder that we can still be a part of things. Even if quietly in the background until he decides he needs us again.  

It’s the summer of letting go. 

Gorgeous photography by Light by Iris. See more of her beautiful work from this shoot, here.