Holding on and Letting Go

There's a bit of a nip in the air this morning.  It's August 28, usually high time for the Summer heat.  Only a few days ago I walked outside early in the morning to the sun beating down hard, the humidity so thick I struggled to get a breath as I walked to my car.  My boy trailed behind me, his bookbag heavy on his back with all his new school supplies.  First day of school in mid-August.  The cool air of this morning though, made me think of Autumn. I  almost expected to see yellow leaves floating across the breeze.   I would delude myself if I believed the weather today.  I know from experience that Summer hangs on as long as it can around here.  Kids will be romping around in short pants well into October, maybe even early November if the weather follows its usual course.

The stores had Halloween costumes out last week, the school supplies already relegated to some corner, prices slashed to make room for Thanksgiving dinnerware and Christmas ornaments.  It seems by August the rest of the year is pretty much done--already accounted for anyway, by one holiday after another, every year repeating the same familiar ryhthm until at last we find ourselves champaigne in hand, awaiting another New Year.

Today I want to slow down.  I want to just sit for a while in the quiet of a deceptively cool August morning and appreciate my life.  My boy will be 11 in two weeks.  Oh Lord, can't we slow time down just a little?  My mind races too far ahead when I see him growing up.  Yesterday I caught myself thinking, "Next year he'll be almost 12...In two years he'll be a teenager."  I imagined him taller, lankier with a pimple or two.  I imagined that by then, the hugs I get so frequently now will have all but dried up; yellow leaves tumbling through my mind, memories of the boy becoming a man.

I know. It happens to us all.  I lamented as I watched my daughters become women.  My heart ached with theirs as they struggled through their growing pains, all the while knowing that they never believed I understood how growing pains feel.  Now, watching them mother their own, I wonder if they have an inkling how much I've always loved them.  I wonder if, as they let their little ones go one milestone at a time, they'll know how hard it was for me to release them.  From their first smile to their first step to the first crush, it's all a process of letting go a little at a time.  I think that's why humans grow up so much slower than puppies.  God knew a mama's heart couldn't bear letting loose so quickly.

I'm heading to work in a few minutes, grateful for the time I've had to sit in solitude and remember who I am.  I sometimes let my mind get overwraught with my mistakes and missteps.  I wallow in all the ways I could have done things differently. I wonder if I should be doing things differently now. I could have done better for myself, I sometimes think.  Then I remember that since the age of 20, my decisions were all driven by my love for another little human.  I worked part time, pushed for flexibility, worked from home, took my kids to work with me and quit jobs that took too much of me away from them.  I'm not saying I've never been selfish; I cannot create a lie so grand.

Last night I ran the numbers to see if going back to full time work would make life better for us.  The numbers came out pretty even, either way.  I would only bring home a couple hundred extra bucks a month and that would go to the afterschool program.  I'd much rather be a little poorer and still have afternoons with my boy while he is, still a boy.

Back I go now, into that cool summer morning.  I'll drive myelf to work and spend the first half of my day with people who have learned the art of letting go so much better than I.  I'm grateful for them too.  They give me hope that in the years to come all the pain and struggle of letting go will bring abundance in ways unmeasurable by any bank or mortage company.

I'll pick up my boy at 2:30 and we'll do homework together this afternoon.  By then it will likely be smothering hot again, whether or not the sun is out.  Some things never change, and I guess amongst all the other changes swirling around us, we need the constant too.

Henry Ellis said, "The art of living lies in a fine mingling of holding on and letting go."

It's an art I will probably never master, but not for lack of trying.