Moving Day Mourning

Tomorrow is moving day. I will drive our truck down to Santa Monica and help my son, Josiah, move the last of his possessions into storage.  He had to sell or give away his furniture because our home and shed are full. Yet, neither he nor I could bear to part with the oak dresser his Uncle Steve made for him before he was born.

My mother’s heart is breaking. Nine months of having your son working and traveling overseas does not seem like it would be so difficult. Maybe I’m troubled by the places he will be going: South Africa, Philippines, India, China. I want to cry, but not until I lay my head on my pillow so I don’t have to explain.

Perhaps my dismay results from the third of our four children moving away. One ray of sunshine is that his girlfriend, Monique, is going with him so he won’t be alone.

I don’t like saying good-bye. I don’t like long distance loving of your precious children. I detest worrying about their well-being and counting the days until they return.

Do I want my children to travel the world? Yes. Do I desire for them to explore like I once had the privilege of doing? Absolutely. Does my heart swell with pride over their international quests? Of course…but today, I feel like crying, just the same. Even though he is an accomplished and capable young man, my instinct to protect will darken a portion of my future days.

That is the cost of mothering.