Twigged that life will go on when nestlings take off
The plastic letter board on the piano is a harbinger of a major life change: “DAYS TILL #USA 7,” it reads. It greets me when I walk into the kitchen each morning and waves goodbye before I go to bed. The sign stirs a multitude of emotions.
Miss 18 is the board’s owner and number changer.
She started her countdown in March, excited about her trip back to the US to spend three weeks with the grandparents.
The graduation gift caps a long six months of working and waiting for her university studies to start at the end of July.
Until a few months ago, I thought I had determined the impact of my oldest child’s departure. She would leave for Auckland, returning during school holidays and the occasional weekend, leaving Master 16 and me to hold the fort.
I would be sad that my girl was making the transition to adulthood, that the vast majority of her nights would be spent somewhere else than under the same roof with her brother and me.
That’s life. One child leaves, the other stays, and you adapt.
But kid No. 2 has decided he also wants to fly. My youngest, the child who has gifted me countless nights of exasperation and sleeplessness, will attend high school in the US.
This, despite the fact mass shootings are synonymous with America, despite its toxic political climate and increasing incivility.
Master 16 has spent his entire school career in Aotearoa and figures he is over it. It’s not an unusual attitude for teenagers. I want him to stay here, but I also want him to go. I know the US is a big place and that the odds he will return to me with nothing worse than weird(er) hair are very good.
My son has grown up without a father most of his life. He was 4 when Sean died.
For all my flaws, I have been a present parent. But I don’t have personal experience becoming a man.
In her book, He’ll Be Okay: Growing Gorgeous Boys into Good Men, Celia Lashlie says women cannot stand on the bridge to manhood. She argues we can walk alongside our sons, but they need a man to guide them through adolescence.
While I am not a fan of gender stereotypes and patriarchy, the world I see is still inclined to place different norms and expectations on males and females.
The androgynous childhood I envisioned for my kids evaporated after my son stopped playing dressup in his sister’s clothes around age 4.
Master 16 owns a one-way ticket to Cleveland, Ohio. He will live with my dad and his wife, attend school in a small town (population about 18,000) and play soccer.
It may be a short-lived experiment where he boomerangs back home after a few months.
It could be a longer-term arrangement where he stays for two more years of high school.
How this adventure will unfold remains a mystery. Will he like it? Will he stay off video games long enough to make friends?
Will he get up in the morning on his own a month from today, when I have had to drag him from bed nearly every day of his teenage life? So many unknowns. So much maturing to do.
I was the same age as my son when I left America for an exchange year. I lived on a dairy farm in Luxembourg while attending high school.
It was a challenging time of tears, long-distance phone calls, language study, parties, and travel.
Looking back, I see it as one of the most formative years of my life. I give my parents credit for encouraging me to fly even though it would have been hard to see me go.
It’s funny what you notice when the people you love most are about to leave. Conversations about the mundane and the profound bear weight.
Meals are important events, even when they consist of simple spaghetti, stale sushi or leftover tuna casserole.
My phone flips face down and the answer is “yes” when one of my children wants attention.
Yes, I will watch BTS’ new video.
Yes, I will talk about faith and doubt.
Yes, I will help you find your car key, even though I am not responsible for it.
The nestlings will leave for their respective schools at the end of next month.
The dog and I will continue bonding over our shared religion: a holy trinity of sunbeams, sofas and running.
On the bright side, I will regain heaps of time otherwise spent cooking, cleaning and washing for three people.
And I will grow during this transition. My nestlings aren’t the only ones evolving — life affords us many chances to pivot.
With a combination of work, skill and luck, we can choose the change.