I’ve done the morning routine more times than I can recall. It always starts the same. I rise before the sun. In the quiet and dark of the house, I set about turning on all of the lights. When my son wakes up, he needs the lights and full command of the day’s situation before he can properly set about getting ready.
While he’s getting dressed, I fix the egg as I’ve noted before. He brushes the teeth. Then it’s a few minutes of ipad time until the bus finally arrives. Ubiquitously, he bounds down the steps to the bus at the end of the driveway backpack on backward. And I watch him drive away into the darkness of the fall morning. It’s not yet 7am.
In the moments after he leaves, I sometimes breathe a sigh of relief. It’s a low bar, not screwing up his morning routine, but it is a responsibility I take seriously. Once he leaves, the house is far too quiet. The adrenaline of the morning rush is still present but with nowhere to go. I sometimes sit on the sofa near the window and watch the sun rise. Other times, I’ll nod off. Whatever the case, I usually find myself feeling a bit wistful, appreciating the chance to be a part of his world, yet, knowing that this will not last.
And the fact is it won’t. Neither my time here with him nor his need for my presence will long last. I used to think the wistfulness I feel was a latent depression or malaise. These days, I think my feelings are really just the pains of being a parent. It’s so gratifying to be needed. Still, the ultimate goal of parenting is to make one’s self redundant. So, I suppose there’s a natural bit of sad in all that.
But it’s also one mixed with pride. Seeing a kid grow up the way mine is, I am thrilled to see him make mature choices, to hear him communicate more like a young man than a little boy. We can laugh together and he shares his own laughs even if I don’t always understand them. As painful as it might feel, it’s also immeasurably rewarding to see him slowly become an adult, and eventually a peer.
In the end, like most of life, I realize that this experience isn’t new or unique. I can remember my own mom getting teary-eyed when she’d drop us off for the first day of school. As a kid, like my son, I bounded off to class not really sure why she was misty-eyed at all. But now I get it. It’s a mild sadness mixed with pride. Knowing the transition is inevitable. Happily embracing it even. But also wishing for a pause button on life to appreciate the moments a little bit longer.
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