scribblechic

To my son,

You came into this world in your own time, disrupting expectations and creating opportunities for faith. As quickly as you arrived, you were gone; born prematurely, in a facility unequipped for your care, we were separated so that you could thrive. No one placed you in my arms, instead our first hello was first a goodbye.

I waited eagerly that first morning, anxious to acknowledge the tiny spirit who had previously inspired joy and curiosity as my body changed form to accommodate your enthusiastic movements. Then, in our first conversation, I found myself speaking in a language weighted by silence. I could not thread together the volumes that seemed to sustain the seconds between us.

It is a humbling love, fiercely vulnerable, that tethers a mother and child. Words seemed trite and inadequate in those first moments, instead I marveled at the miracle of your tiny fingers and wise gaze. I looked past the wires and machinery that signaled weakness seeing only beauty and strength.

Then, I let go; trusting that you would be okay and recognizing the limits of my control. Today I asked the same of you.

On the eve of your birthday you begged me to dismiss you from school, a place sometimes burdened with unkindness and discomfort. I struggled against wanting to shelter you from your fears and choosing a path that would honor my faith in your strength. Rather than hide you from harm, I asked you to let go and trust in the possibility of kindness.

This is my birthday wish for you:

I hope you begin always with faith in possibility. In some of our most challenging hours we find the source of our strength is greater than the cause of our worries. In moments outside our control there is an opportunity to let go of fear or hold tightly to doubt; it is always better to embrace possibility than hide in the shadows of insecurities. When calculating risk, count first your accomplishments and multiply them by your willingness to engage risk. Failure and harm are inevitable but joy and accomplishment are impossible without first risking both.

Love, Mom

There is an image that lingered in my mind’s eye last night, long after the day’s sun and gentle breeze carried me off to sleep. It is of my son in the noisy, bustling chaos of the zoo cocooned tightly, patiently observing the flow of traffic snaking around him. In the instant he settled into a ball a stranger’s hand gently squeezed my arm in a moment’s unspoken connection. I turned and saw genuine understanding reflected in her smile as we watched my son stationed sentry, guarding his space in the rhythm of families pulsing around him in every direction.

Over the years I have nurtured my son’s unique sense of self while endeavoring to foster understanding of the world around him; directing his gaze both inward and outward. Yesterday, just far enough outside the influence of motherly prompts – nonverbal or whispered instructions to stand or seek a bench, he seemed to instead inform my gaze creating a picture of wellness in a world unencumbered by his individuality. His very posture answered my uncertainties, reassuring my doubts and begging space. There was a quiet confidence that underscored his contentment; completely at ease in his indifference to difference.

I tried to rectify the memory of my son’s younger self with the image of the young man whose shoulders now stretch above my own. He is a harmonious balance of gentle power; still child and not yet man but fortified with a sense of self and tempered by a curious eagerness to engage with his world. This was the gift of sight that lingered in my mind, a little boy and young man making space in the world for self and a kind stranger weighing me in a silent reassurance, redirecting my expectations with a greater sense of appreciation.

My son has been chasing my shadow, eagerly aligning his shoulders with my own in a race to grow into an expectation of stature.  Amused by his enthusiasm, I measured myself against the kitchen door frame long graffitied with names and dates; allowing each child to gauge themselves against my name. Today, as my son shuffled past me, I knew even before my husband drew a new line that my son’s name would fill the space beside my own. In much the same way I marveled at his first steps I now found myself disoriented by the evidence of time, grateful for the space between his name and his father’s and the smaller shadow of my daughter’s form.

Yesterday a misunderstanding between my son and a peer created worries that crawled under my skin, an irritation of thought that unsettled my mood. I gathered my certainties and uncertainties trying to analyze the burden of blame and map personal boundaries. More than the moment of misunderstanding, I was torn between instinct and intellect. The need to defend my son and respect my most intuitive assumptions of his character were challenged by the reality that his age comes with expectedly unexpected irrational and extravagant errors of self-expression.

This morning, while I waited for word of resolution, I considered the unspoken messages of motherhood that accompanied this experience from the vantage of my absence. In letting go I was silently announcing my faith in my son’s ability to navigate others’ uncertainty; to speak for himself and respect another’s perspective essential skills to this age of clumsy expressions.  In respecting my son’s boundaries and honoring his burdens I held tightly to my sense of his character; reaffirming a quiet confidence in the little boy who moves with an eager gait towards independence.

Looking ahead to our evening routine I am curious to hear my son’s interpretation of his experience without expectation of interference or assumption of my authority, but rather with a greater consciousness for his ability in the space of his day.