My youngest turns 20 today. So, that’s a wrap, right? Pretty much. All the days of finding shoes, making breakfast and driving to various and sundry places (SF Bayshore District at midnight, for one) comes quietly to an end, like the slow fade out at the end of a movie.
What was I thinking having ten kids…ten kids in seventeen years? Really! Not only do I blame my ex-husband (who wanted the decuplet), but also Frances Hodgson Burnett for writing about Dickon’s family in such a way that enticed me to dream of a small home overflowing with children, love, laughter, baking and animals. Alas, “the best laid plans of mice and men”…literature should have warning labels.
After the divorce, it was my primary motivation, responsibility and obsession to finish rearing this motley crew of characters – the main characters in my story – and provide as best I could a decent education, healthcare and some spiritual direction. To help them overcome the inevitable emotional hurdles they would face in the wake of a broken home, in the wake of a father who left and in the wake of a mother who stayed, but was herself very flawed.
One by one they graduated or flew the coop. One by one they found their footing and began to tread their path. One by one they no longer needed me. But I still needed them. I still needed to be needed. What was I to do now?
It wasn’t the fifteen years of inadequate sleep, nor the refereeing between squabbling siblings, nor even the hand ringing, tums popping nights as I waited up for them to come home, but it was when they declared their independence from me, that was the hard, painful pill to swallow. My characters were leaving the show. My show. Me.
Now, I know I was only a temporary guardian of these souls. I know that they were not going to remain with me forever. But I didn’t know it would go by so fast, nor did I know that the end would seem so abrupt and nor did I anticipate the emotional impact that would leave me feeling very ALONE. “And only I am left on stage to end the play.”
They’ve started their stories, their own shows as they should. They’ve taken center stage. I am just a supporting character. I remember being their age and what I wanted to do. That was all I thought about. I didn’t think about my parents and what emotional experience they may be having when their children grew up and moved out.
What WAS I thinking? Even though My Secret Garden dream didn’t come about as I’d hoped, I’m thankful for my ten kids. We had lots of laughter, a small home crammed with kids, puppies, chickens, friends, cats and hole-digging, fort-building and bread making. Yes, of course, there were dark times, obviously; but despite them, my children gave me so much joy. Now, they give me grandchildren….compound joy! I am very blessed. And I hope and pray that their childhood will serve them well. Kids, break a leg!
So, what am I thinking now? Ride (or write) away into the senescent sunset? No, I don’t think so. Lord willing, I think there may still be a second act left in me. Break a leg, Donna!
FROM THE SHOE 