I packed a sack lunch for my oldest son today. I literally can’t even remember the last lunch I packed for him. But today was his first day of work. A real job. Manual labor.
Packing that lunch and sending him off on his own made me realize that even though, on the one hand, I’m counting down the number of days until I can send him off toward independence, I’m still gripping him tightly with the other. Even though his teenage mood swings make me want to scream, I don’t relish the thought of anyone in the “real world” feeling the same.
I’m not a hoverer or a very tender mom. I even feel a little calloused at times compared to other mothers I know. But today was hard. It was hard to bite my tongue and not give advice. It was hard not to worry. It was hard turning him over to someone else who I know will (thankfully) challenge him–physically, emotionally, and mentally. Ultimately, it was hard to let him go, recognizing that this is how men like his father are made—through hard knocks and harder work, through trial and error, falling, brushing the dirt off, and getting back up.
And none of this involves me holding his hand.
Just like that, my time with him has shifted, and it is now more right for me to step back and lead from behind instead of in front, to teach through listening and silence instead of repetitive words.
Dropping him off, I felt the urge to reach out and grab his hand one more time, for old times’ sake. But I refrained—for his sake and mine. Instead, I just watched him walk away without a backward glance, then swallowed the lump in my throat and drove away, alone with my thoughts and empty-handed.
Who knew what a little sack lunch could unravel…
