They do this. They get big and make plans and do things and go places. Without me. They pack their many bags (for school, work, theater, wrestling, the gym) and they grab their keys and they dash out the door at 7am, returning exhausted at 10pm, sometimes long after I’ve gone to bed.
This is what we wanted after all- to raise fully functioning, participating members of society, people who have interests and motivation, ideas and independence.
One has flown the nest. That first one was parenting baptism by fire. Adopting an “adult” with a traumatic childhood was a choice for which we were woefully unprepared, especially with three babies and while recovering from major surgeries. That was over ten years ago, and to see where she is now is all the proof I need of God’s perfect provision.
Another little is perched on the nest’s rim, fluttering wings that are trembling anxiously, ready to fly. He manages his own work schedule, his own bank account, his own plans. He trolls online for the perfect car, watches his savings grow, waits patiently like a hawk on the hunt.
Two other baby birds aren’t far behind. One of those is about to fly to the Bahamas, literally, for a weeklong educational experience with other Columbus Zoo teen volunteers. The pictures of the field station are breathtaking and I love the wanderlust she has to do things I would’ve never attempted at fifteen, but I will age at least a month while she’s gone for seven days.
This season that’s closing down has been such a long one it hasn’t felt like a season, but just how life is. To think it’s ending is too much for my daily-aging brain.
I’m not sure how I got to the point where I’m standing at the door in the morning, holding onto it like it will keep me up, like it’s firm reassurance will stave the tears that threaten as I watch my babies flutter away from me. But if God has provided a way through the trials this far, I’m sure He’ll see me through this, too.