Turning to Our Lady

Yeah, I know, that little poem was depressing and I, too, thought by now that I'd be used to the kids growing up and leaving. And that the undivided attention that Jim and I are now able to shower upon one another would certainly make up for it (and it really does help as do the grandchildren), but then dropping Megan off for her senior year of college hit. me. hard. It's not that I'm constantly brooding in a corner or anything, but whenever I think of it, that dadgum, blasted, and all too familiar little lump in my throat starts to rise and my eyes go all swimmy and, well, you know.


Having just left Megan on Monday, I could not help but remember all four of my kids as little ones. In a weird way, I could hear their squeals and laughter echoing ghost-like through the house. I'd see Katie twirling in the family room, Erin and Kevin frolicking through mud puddles, and little Megan cooing to her baby dolls.

My gosh, it was just yesterday, right?

Sometimes, I just really miss it all.

While I was raising my kids, I'd often worry about loving them too much, as if there is such a thing. But I knew early on that when the time came to release them to the world it would be very, very hard. I realized, too, that they really weren't mine to cling to so tightly. It doesn't (and yet it does) help that the internet and Facebook have been abuzz this week with posts and status updates from parents, from all walks of life, reeling from the sting of separation - from those sending child number one off to college to those bidding farewell to their youngest for the first time or for yet another year away.

This particular article about mourning their mere absence from the home and about the difficulty of letting go reminded me of my time with Our Lord in the Adoration Chapel this week. Although the author of the article doesn't mention her, I reflected this week on Our Lady's time spent raising Jesus from infancy through adulthood and how all along she knew she could not cling to him. How she knew she had been blessed and humbled to be chosen to be His mother, how it graced her and made her love Him all the more. She pondered everything in her heart and she trusted. Her deep faith carried her through knowing He was destined to suffer and die for all mankind. And perhaps she realized, too, how she would be the perfect role model for all mothers. To teach us how to give back to God those entrusted to our care, those babies all grown up who rightly belong to Him. To teach us to be humbled by and grateful for the sheer privilege and gift of mothering. And we learn through her profound suffering in the sharing of her Son's passion and death, that the hurting is okay, too. It is truly good, as it springs forth from a deep, abiding love, a necessary love. A love that informs you that you've done your best and shows you that they have grown into quite outstanding, beautiful adults with their own God-given gifts and opportunities.

Therein lies our joy. We wipe away the tears as we look forward to the days ahead ... of celebrations, graduations, weddings, births, new careers and of simply relishing each moment.

O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary, our hope, pray for us.

****************************************************

Please remember to pray for those parents who have lost children through illness, violence, tragedy, addiction, estrangement or misunderstanding. I cannot imagine their sense of loss. Please, Jesus, hold them close.

the missing wells up

The missing wells up all at once, like a river spilling beyond its banks,

swollen by much too much rain.

It just seems so cruel. It surprises her at just how much.

From loving them hard with all she's got,

to them suddenly no longer needing her.

So she settled on a dog. A sweet one. A little one that will not grow big.

You're still their mother. Her love insists as his arms catch her just before she slips away.

True.

But not the same.

She nearly called out to them to come marvel at the turtle she spied under the boxwood. 

To share the joy of discovery. 

To share the beauty of God's created world.

Like they used to.

Instead she pointed it out to the empty-nest dog. 

But the dog showed no interest, preferring instead to yap at the mailman.