It was as tough, if not tougher than I had imagined, to let go of my son and watch him walk away. Parenthood is the only job in the world with the goal of becoming unemployed in eighteen years. It was 1998 when he left for college. I found myself dwelling a lot on his birth and his early months, kind of like I was reliving them. I had written a lot of insights and poems when he was a baby which seemed to provide me comfort in those early days of his absence. I thought of the quote I had on my desk at home, “Children are like snowflakes–unique, but only here for awhile,” and of the mother who told me to “Savor each moment” when she gave me his “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament in 1979. He was two-weeks old. That ornament is always the first one on my tree and the last one off.
For those of you whose nests are empty this year, and for those of you receiving your baby’s first ornament, and for all of you somewhere in between your first and final “post-parting” blues,” I share this short poem I wrote one afternoon while my son was sleeping on my shoulder. We were stationed in Iceland. It was 1980 and he was nine months old. I called it simply “Rain.”
Subtle smile upon his lips,
Eyes dancing beneath their lids,
A baby sleeps.
Rain pelting the window pane
Wind in sheets across the grass,
A baby sleeps.
But for the moment he is mine
Soft warm breath against my cheek,
A mother smiles.
Merry Christmas…Savor each moment.
Disclaimer: Articles featured on Oregon Report are the creation, responsibility and opinion of the authoring individual or organization which is featured at the top of every article.