A Separate Peace

Jude comes in our room at night. We send him back to his room, but it doesn't work. It frustrates my husband, he wants, understandably, just a little time to ourselves. The trouble is, there is a magnetic pull, calling to Jude, willing him to pad down the hall and open our door.

It is me. I will him to come down here, for one more kiss, one more sleepy snuggle.

In my mind, I have had to sacrifice so much, what with sending them off to school, teaching them to do things without me. It is especially hard with Jude, who for so long could not speak. We have this connection, this way of communicating without words, a soundless understanding. It is hard to give that up. In a sense he is my last baby, my last child who understands my wordless love, who is comforted by my smell and the beating of my heart.

There is a part of me that wants to consume the one I love, to be enveloped in them, to breathe them. Separation is the hardest thing to face, but perversely it is my greatest responsibility as a mother. How messed up is that? My whole purpose in life was to bond and nurture, bond and nurture, and now my greatest calling is to send them away?

The bible addresses the idea that children become idols in several places. The godly (Abraham, Hannah, Mary) hand them over willingly, while the ones who cling hurt themselves and their children. I see it. I want to cling tight and never let go. I see how wrong it is, too, the selfishness, the needs I want to meet through those whose needs I am meant to meet.

Love is sacrifice, love is letting go. Love is teaching you to tie your shoes and not having to know what you did at school today. Love is sending you and your fuzzy head that smells like summer back to your room, to dream your own dreams, not mine, separate and well defined.

I love you. And that's the truth, that is what is real. I don't have to sacrifice my dreams, my plans, my wants, my desires.

I just have to let go of you.