Sunday, February 1, 2009

To my son, xoxoxo, Mom

Yesterday was strangely a very sad day for me. It was my daughter's birthday. A day to celebrate, right? Her brother called from college to wish her a "Happy 15th!", and because I was up early, I answered the phone and heard his voice on the other end of the line. I was surprised because he is a life-long member of the "Up at the Crack of Noon" club. This was too early for him to be talking, much less dialing his phone. Most importantly, this voice was one I was unfamiliar with, so I asked if he was all right. He assured me he was OK, and then asked to talk with Tess. As I started to lay down the phone, I heard him speak, asking me to hold on a minute. My heart stopped. He had something to tell me, but it was difficult. I assured him I would listen without speaking until he was finished. The floodgates burst open.

He has a broken heart. It's a classic tale of boy meets girl. They fall in love. After a year of dating, promises are made. Boy travels to a foreign land for a semester. Boy returns home anxious to be with girl, but girl has found another. To make matters even crappier for boy, before boy leaves on study-abroad, girl suggests he move into a house across the street from her apartment so they would be close when he returns. Girl introduces him to friends that live in the rental; they need a roommate to sublet for spring semester. Boy signs on the dotted line before leaving for India...

I wanted to say all those things a protective mother would say, like "she's not good enough for you", or "you'll find someone better", or "maybe it will work out", but I didn't. I knew that would hurt him. Instead we had, what I think was, one of the most honest, loving conversations a mother and son could share. The hollowness in his voice, the devastation in his heart, was almost more than I could bear. He is lost and alone. His friends are her friends, too. Everywhere he turns, she is there. This is the first woman he has really clicked with; dated lots of others, but never got serious...until this one. I just hurt so much for him.

Before I turned out the light last night, I got out the little bag holding the Guatemalan Worry Dolls that Peggy wrote about in her post. Thinking about my son, I chose a doll to take away his worry. He couldn't put it under his pillow, but I could under mine, and I did, for him. As much as I would like to kiss this boo-boo, his broken heart...he'll have to figure that out for himself.

1 comment:

  1. time to cut the apron strings perhaps?