Q is for Quickly

That’s how time has been moving lately- so quickly!

My ‘baby’ is enjoying his last year of high school and (yes, I know this is a good thing, but) he needs me less and less. And my body? Oh, she’s aging with new wrinkles, aches and creaks every day. And although I’ve been present for every moment of these fifty-nine years, I’m surprised at just how quickly my life has been passing.

Oh my golly, I think I’m beginning to sound like an old lady. But I’m not! I mean, I certainly don’t feel old. But that mirror- she’s reflecting someone back at me that I hardly recognize at times. How the heck did all that aging happen?

And lately, as I ride the wave of time, I feel like I’m being prepared for what lies ahead. I remember when I was pregnant with our oldest son. During the month before he was born I became so uncomfortable that I couldn’t sleep at night. I’d try everything- turning from one side to the other, flat on my back, propped by pillows- but I just couldn’t get comfortable. (Am I the only one who worried if I slept in a weird position, I’d squish them?!) So I began sleeping less and less.

It wasn’t until years later that I realized how the discomfort that kept me awake that last month was preparing me for the many sleepless nights that would follow. Whether it was nursing, changing, comforting, or waking to find they’d puked everywhere,(UGH! That was the worst.) my life post-baby didn’t include many uninterrupted nights.

Fast forward to twenty years later and I feel like I’m once again being prepared for a shift, but this one’s lingering over my heart like a heavy weight. Our younger son is living his best life right now, with great friends and a girlfriend, busy with baseball and enjoying school. All of that to say, he is practically never home.

And it dawned on me that his absence is preparing me for what lies ahead - the emptiness or empty nest.  You know, I’ve never liked that phrase, “empty nest.” Although it evokes an image of cute little birdies being fed by a Mama bird who’s preparing them to take flight, the feeling the phrase creates in me isn’t warm and cozy. It’s a feeling of heaviness and sadness.

Of course I understand the imagery. I’ve raised our kids, wrapping my metaphoric wings around them- loving on them, nurturing and protecting them as best as I can. I’m not certain about many things, but I’ve always felt that being their mom was the reason I was placed on this earth. And before you jump in to remind me (because this always seems to happen), I know that my job isn’t done for good, it’s just shifting. But that knowing doesn’t diminish the feelings that are present now. Because instead of feeling bliss and upliftment as I witness my boys grow and leave our warm, safe home, I’m feeling a horrible pit in my stomach.

A comparison popped up in my head. You know how some women develop postpartum depression after the birth of their children? Well, I think I’m developing a case of PPHSGD- Pre-Post-High-School-Graduation-Depression. Yep, I just coined that term because I know there are so many other women who are experiencing the very same thing.

So in order to counter the feelings that come with PPHSGD, I’ve begun a practice that requires a bit of discipline. Every time I notice myself beginning to spiral into sadness around all of the uncertainty in my life, I quickly acknowledge it. Call it out right there in that moment. Then I look for the reframe. And sometimes I say it out loud. Doesn’t matter where I am- middle of the grocery store, on my morning walk, at a doctor’s office- I acknowledge the gift that each moment is offering me out loud as a way to anchor the reframe. And by doing this, my energy shifts and I begin to feel uplifted. If I’m having trouble reframing (or I’m just being stubborn, finding myself wanting to linger in the sadness) I sometimes just begin whispering the words, “trust, faith, surrender.” I repeat them over and over again, like a soft prayer.

I find that imagery also helps. I picture myself floating down a creek in the most beautiful, serene woods. (The one that always comes to mind is the quiet creek that Laura Ingalls would escape to in “Little House on the Prairie.”) I’m lying on my back, effortlessly floating, seeing the green trees above me and listening to the chirping birds. My arms are open as I allow the expansion and possibility to fill me.

Now, I’d be lying if I said this worked all of the time. And sometimes I wonder if this is just a way of avoiding the hard feelings by living in good ‘ole denial. But given a choice (which we all are!) I really do prefer to go through this lifetime with joy in my heart. So I do my very best to honor all of my feelings and then move towards the happy.

I’ve had to lean into faith a lot, too, believing that it’s all going to be ok- that the feelings of pain, sadness and hopelessness (even grief) will eventually subside. And I’ve come to see faith as a bridge, carrying me from moments of doubt to moments of certainty. But stepping onto that bridge is scary. It reminds me of that scene with Harrison Ford in “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.” He had to take that first step, trusting the bridge would appear. That image so accurately describes the fear I feel as I take leaps of faith in my own life. But there’s something within me that just knows I will make it to the other side.

Because there are so many gifts waiting for me in the future. When I drop down into my truth, I can even acknowledge the gifts of the present, recognizing the discomfort of this period of time as a blessing. I sense it’s quietly shaping who I am becoming, paving a path into my next chapter. Time may be moving quickly, but I’m right here in it, doing my very best to expand into the many possibilities that lie ahead.

So I’ll embrace these wonderfully special, tender moments with my son for what they offer right now, taking pride in how prepared our boys are to leave the nest. And I’ll do my best to care for my body, offering it the exercise and nutrition it needs. And I’ll celebrate the gifts of today. Because quickly or not, we’re all exactly where we’re meant to be- right on time.

In loving,

Sarah