They were gone. The front door closed with a hesitant, soft click. I stood on one leg, my broken ankle cradled in the cushion of my scooter. Too stunned to even shake my head. I was staring up at the closed front door, the last words I'd spoken, ringing in my ears: "I love you."
My eyes panned across the living room to the mirror behind the couch. I was staring at myself, at the white streaks in my hair that weren't there a decade ago. I imagine in one more decade, when that door closes for good, when my youngest is 18 and will walk away into his new life, there may only be some streaks of brown left. But who knows.
I rolled over to the stairs and grabbed my crutches, slowly making my way up to my room, determined to tap and type until I could restore some order in my brain. As if the clicks and pauses, if played long enough, would drum out a familiar melody, a song and a story that my mother's heart craved. How do I make sense of this rapidly changing life?
I almost wish whoever might be reading this could see all the drafts, all the rabbit holes. The comparisons between the U.S. and Singapore and Switzerland. The complaints about COVID. The marvel of watching the kids grow. And that's it. That's the elusive melody that began this journey, so that will be my focus.
But first, allow me a brief trip down memory lane...Seven years ago we arrived on a dark, balmy night. The floors were marble, the palm trees swayed. Staff fluttered around the children, whose tired heads lolled as they piled onto plush couches. Bag after bag was unloaded, papers were signed. As we wiped our faces with cool, lemongrass scented towels, we had no idea of the adventure that awaited. Life in Singapore with 4 children ages 7, 5, 3, and 1 was just beginning.
That is how I remember life there, in strange and vivid snapshots. Moments in time where senses were heightened and emotions were high. Experiences that were so foreign and bizarre, they simply burned into my brain. And if Singapore has anything in common with Switzerland, that's it. That strange, choppy picture show quality of memories forged by jarring experiences.
So for today's strange experience...I put my kids on public transport. It wasn't the first time. The circumstances were just really strange today. In the States, I would have piled them into the mini-van and taken them where they needed to go. They might even walk to school or ride their bikes. They might catch a ride with a friend. They would not have gone far. If they had gone far, they certainly would have been accompanied by an adult.
In Europe, much as in Singapore, public transportation is amazing. It is clean, affordable, efficient, and safe. We took it several times while we were waiting to get the lease approved for our station wagon. Though the 10 minute walk to the bus stop is picturesque, it can be hard to appreciate the beauty when it is dark and cold, as it is on school mornings. Once at the stop, it takes another 10 minutes to reach a train station. It's not bad, just different from what we were used to in the States. So, usually, I drive the kids everywhere, including school.
A few weeks ago, I broke my ankle while skiing. My right ankle. No walking and certainly no driving. Aaron jumped in, and thanks to the work-from-home COVID mandates, he was able to drive the kids to and from school. He had several trips scheduled, but then our youngest contracted COVID. Then I did. Then Parker. Then Maddie. It was like the plague, but in some ways it was a blessing, because it meant Aaron stayed home.
Fast forward to today. Everyone has recovered from COVID. Aaron flew to Madrid. It happens to be the "ski day" for Parker's class. They are loading onto a bus and heading for the mountains. He would need to be at school 30 minutes earlier than usual. What was normally a 15 minute car ride became a 35 minute walk-bus-train-bus trip. Alone.
This also meant Maddie would have to take her younger brothers on the same walk-bus-train-bus journey, departing 30 minutes after Parker. Now, I know what I said about the Swiss public transport being safe and efficient yada, yada, yada. All of a sudden, it wasn't feeling like the best option anymore. Was it really fair to ask our kids to do this? How would they cope? The same way European kids who did this all the time do, I supposed.
So this morning was one of those bizarre, notice the details, kind of mornings. A few minutes after my alarm went off, I heard Parker silence his own alarm and begin moving around his room. Let's just stop right there. For over a decade, I was the one waking everyone. Suddenly, I found myself meeting this taller-than-me young man in the kitchen. I made some eggs and toast, as he purchased his tickets on his phone. Okay, can we stop again? He was navigating his own way, without my help. So weird. He pulled on his mid layer coat, gathered his gloves and shoved some granola bars into his pockets. I had to silence that voice in my brain that told me to write his name on the wrappers. Good moms remember to label everything. What if he lost them? What if they got mixed in with his friends' snacks? Hush, momma. He's 14, not 4. He zipped into his out layer coat and told me goodbye. I asked for a kiss, and he obliged. Then he made his way out the door.
After icing my leg, I called up to Maddie. Without complaint, she made her way downstairs and proceeded all the way to the basement where she woke her brothers. I heard her reminding them to pack their snacks as they ascended. Caleb stopped by the couch where I was sitting with my leg propped up on a pillow. He snuggled with me for a moment then followed Maddie and Jack into the kitchen where they began to make breakfast. We made a game of racing to put on socks and shoes. Caleb beat the timer I set by a mere 2 seconds with a victorious grin. I reminded Jack today was swim day (aka super-random, ever- changing, make-parents-insane, don't-forget-to-bring-the-necessary-labelled-towel-suit-cap-to-school-or-you-will-have-to-drive-it there-later day). Needless to say, I found swim days a tad stressful on a good day. I would not drop that ball today.
Jack assured me his bag was by the door.
Can you just put it inside your regular backpack, please?
No, mom. It's fine.
But Jack, I can't bring it up there today. What I didn't say was, "Jack, please let me control this one little thing during this completely uncontrollable day. Please let me feel like I'm helping somehow. Please let me feel like I'm doing something to parent you."
I've got it mom.
Meanwhile, Maddie and Caleb were donning their coats and moving toward the door.
Jack, just put it in your bag.
Bye mom. The front door closed with a hesitant, soft click.
I love you.
I stood there. Not mad. Just a little helpless. Not in the normal sense of the word. No, I had simply helped-less. They didn't need me to remind and pester and badger. Because they had it. They had it covered.
And it was weird and good and perplexing. It was the paradox of parenthood - the mixture of joy and sadness and surprise when you have made yourself obsolete. Now, I'm not saying they don't need me anymore at all, but it was a little shocking to realize just how self-sufficient these little humans had become.
I opened my phone and checked the Life360 app I'd set up years ago. Immediately, the sweet little faces of their outdated pictures appeared, moving slowly across the map, away from me, even more jarring given their youthful appearance. Noticing his battery was low, I quickly texted Parker and surprised myself by asking him to turn off location services on his app. If his battery died, he wouldn't be able to buy a train ticket home.
I had to let him go if I wanted him to come home.
And just like that, he was gone.
Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it. Proverbs 22:6
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