It was late for us, nearing 11 and I was contentedly working on a puzzle when Todd finally came and sat beside me. I suggested he read my latest blog since it was about our family. He asked if it would make him cry. Not completely forthcoming, I lied. No, you’ll be fine. But then I heard him start sniffling in the quiet dark of the evening on the couch beside me and I felt a little chagrined. Maybe just dust from working in the yard all night? When he finished he didn’t say a word. I realized he was trying to compose himself. Why do you have to write like that, he wanted to know. Like what? I was just writing what was going on.
He doesn’t take long to get ready for bed, a little teeth brushing, sets his glasses on our headboard, done. Me, I’ve got contacts and a skin care routine. Flossing. Lotion. It takes a minute. But even after all this time to catch his breath, he was still sniffling. So we laid there in the dark while I asked what he was thinking. He confirmed what I’d just written about. It’s just hard to believe it’s all ending, that our kids are leaving. He confessed he has a lot of regrets about his relationship with Mitchell. I knew this was the crux of his breakdown, and at this point I left him with his thoughts. I knew they were too raw to talk about then, it was also for him to sort out alone. I have regrets of my own to figure out.
But the next morning on our walk we talked a bit more. He revealed his regrets at having had pushed so much, that they’d butted heads so often. And I asked him why he thought that was. Too much alike or too different? Probably too much alike. He could see himself in Mitchell. Todd’s always confessed his greatest weakness is laziness. Which, if you know him, you’d never guess. But I know what he’s talking about. Not that I agree, just that I know how hard some things are for him to get going on. He’s afraid that with all his potential, the strengths and opportunities Mitchell has been given, that he’s just wasting them. Because he’s been there himself. And that’s not hard to understand. But I reminded him that our parents let us fail. That we’ve learned because we were allowed to have regrets of our own. We can’t take that from our kids. Our parents insisted we make our own choices. And that we deal with the consequences.
I know Todd wishes he hadn’t pushed so hard. But that’s more a lesson for us than for Mitchell. In so many ways we thought we knew what was best, that certain situations required intervention, or at least our input.
And yet, in nearly every single case, we were wrong. I’ll admit we’ve insisted on a few things like thank you notes, chores, applying for jobs and follow-up with his BYU scholarship (that he almost lost because he didn’t read the fine print, good grief), but most things are his to own. Scouts, still not done, he’s got a couple months. Duty to God, doubtful. Stack of graduation cards to acknowledge, someday. Checks to cash, hmmm… Room decluttering so it can become our guest room, not happening. Sigh. There’s more, you’re parents, you know there’s more. But I think what we’re learning is who cares.
I guess we’re just seeing that all that really, really matters is that he knows we love him, that we’re tight, that we’re going to be here. Not hovering, but in the background. To answer questions, to give some feedback when he asks for it. To just teach but then stay out of the way. I’m not saying we’re not interested in some of his choices, we’re just learning to remain patiently behind the curtain waiting to see how it all plays out. So often we’ve concerned ourselves with the outcomes of decisions that we’ve failed to remember our real desired outcome, which is to maintain a solid relationship of love and acceptance within our family, between each other and with our kids.
I would hate to think a child would hide something because he didn’t feel safe, because she wasn’t sure what our reaction would be. How sad. But I think we’re still learning how to be completely safe, to love unconditionally. I think that’s what Todd was getting at. Our kids are leaving, it’s going so fast, are we good? Do they know how much we love them? Especially the ones, like with him and Mitchell, where they haven’t seen eye to eye? Will what we’ve tried to do be enough? Will he leave knowing how proud we are? How much potential we see in him? That we absolutely know he’ll do great? There’s no way to have him leave without regret, those are our issues to own. But we can send him off assured that he has always been loved, that we will continue to love him through whatever he does or doesn’t do. We can help him know he’s to live out his own dreams, that we trust he’ll do his best.
I think this was what brought on the quiet tears. Knowing now what we have so poignantly and slowly—ever so slowly—been learning over the years. That none of that stuff we’d been concerned about really, really matters. And we regret that we even made issues out of any of it. But how do you know, as a young parent, when to prod and when to stand back? When you’re encouraging and when it’s nagging? When to drop your own dreams for your kids and when to let them pursue their own? We’re still learning, and I think Todd thinks we’re out of time. We only have two months left. I think that’s what he was mourning.
But what I told him was this. You still have two months. Tell him. Tell him how proud you are. Tell him how much you love him. Tell him nothing has brought you more happiness than to be his dad. Show him. Wrap him in your arms and remind him you will always, always love him. Simply because he’s your son.
I know it’s not much. We’re reeling from seventeen plus years of botched days and badly-handled situations. But I hope we can somehow still convey to him the depth of our love. That even though we didn’t always go about it the “right” way (whatever that is), we have always, always parented from our hearts, with love. So maybe there’s still time. It’s not the absolute end, it’s—like all the cheesy graduation speeches relay—simply a transition. For him and for us. To let go even more. To let him live unabashedly, fearlessly, to move forward knowing his parents absolutely love him, that no matter what mistakes he makes, regardless of setbacks and disappointments, we’re here. I think that’s what Todd wishes he had said so many years ago. But couldn’t. I think parenting is more about teaching the parents than teaching the kids, and it’s taken us some time to get here. And we’re just sorry it’s taken so long. I think that’s what Todd was trying to tell me.
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