Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Humans are billions of cells clustered in a mass, an amoeba birthing fresh recruits, while shedding dead bits in the wake behind. It is the nature of things. On occasion an active cellular clump is jostled, disconnected from its singular tribe, lost in the leavings. This is not the nature of things, but the non-aware societal theft of an individual’s parts.
September elicits bright yellow buses streaming up roadways and the casual yet determined rain of leaves on an oak infested property. From the first day the now nearly 21 year old twins left for pre-school I have been undertaking annual Good Bye Boot Camp. It is an intensive training for the really big adios shimmering a few meters on the horizon. This work detail is initiated by waving as the pair march toward their yearly unknown. Next I clean the house inside and out, top to bottom, scraping crusty bits from the nest, scattering dust motes far and wide.
In the beginning this ritual was a way to move on from mommy self to my own self. I’d shed tears while wiping up ancient juice spills, collecting kid stinky socks from under the couch or discovering a ball that had been lost two summers before. The rooms are rocked back to a pristine pre-child era, until the life forms returned to mark their territory…yet again. Each year has brought more clarity to what I’m doing when I eight-bucket mop our Sun Room floor.
The ultimate purpose of mentoring offspring is to let them go with all their parts. They will soar far and wide to discover who they really are if I separate completely, releasing the flock with all of their feathers. It is the natural order of things. Each and every plume of the children must be packed in a suitcase for them to take along on their journey. They will require all of themselves for the encounters that are around each bend or hidden in the valleys. Hoarding pieces of these two beautiful spirits will leave them rudderless, traveling in circles repeating old stories.
The Universe asks for the fledglings since they have yet to understand what they will need. This is only known when they have reached the point of nowhere to turn but in. Only then will they realize what it takes to have answers for themselves.
One cup of determination lost behind the refrigerator when someone said,“That’s not how it’s done”, a sprig of courage mistakenly handed over one dark night at three, the smidgen of splendid uniqueness gutted in a fight over peas, items neatly tucked in replica bedrooms in houses all over town.
Not all people are aware what is nestled alongside canopy beds, baseball gloves and teeny tiny shoes. There isn’t understanding for what else is held in dark closets full of things. In those leavings treasured as Gollum, are particles of the lives who left. The long gone beings require their precious wings to fully capture the current as it swirls before them.
On the final pass, the mop pail water will go from muddy grey to filmy, to finally turning clear as I sift out what is mine and what isn’t. Mistily I’ll wave good bye, after checking the rooms for items left behind, tucking feathers into suitcases for a day they will be needed. It is the natural order of things.