The Journey Inward

Today I am sad.
I don't need to be cheered up.
I don't need to look at the bright side.
I don't need to get busy and distract myself.
Today I am sad.
And I want to be.

My youngest has left,
pulled away in her little "Bean" car
packed to the gills with her bags,
clothes, new bedding, new pillows,
a case of water, some snacks,
miscellaneous furniture from this house,
and a bright future full of exploration,
discovery, challenges, and adulting.

I am proud of her
in awe of her,
excited for her,
looking forward to this chapter for her,
and love her spirit.

But for today, I am sad.
I don't want to cheer up,
or look on the bright side,
or get busy and distract.

I want to feel all the feels that a mom feels,
when her children do exactly what she's raised them to do,
selflessly, with sacrifice and love,
with intentionality and purpose,
and with the goal in mind that they will leave.

And then they leave,
and she hurts, grieves,
feels a deep ache,
wants to rewind the clock,
and relive their childhood,
when she was their everything,
when she spent her days
unraveling and unwinding
the mystery that was each of them,
each perfect being,
that was some her, some him,
some aunts, uncles, grandparents,
and some all their own creation.

Today I am sad.
And it makes me happy,
because I have loved 
and been loved so deeply
that it hurts to separate,
it hurts to say goodbye,
one last hug leads to the next,
our tears are flowing,
and I just want to hold on to her,
not let her go, not let her go.

But I do,
and she goes,
and I cry,
and I double over,
and I let the tide of emotions rise and fall,
and I take breaks and water plants,
and watch tennis, facetiming with my oldest,
and then I'm plunged back in.

Today I am sad.
I don't want comfort,
I don't want pep talks,
I don't want reassurance.
I want to be alone,
feel it all,
be grateful for it all,
and be sad.

My nest is empty now,
fully, truly empty this time,
because I have launched all my little birds,
because I have given them wings,
and maybe I will stay in this nest,
or move to another,
but those are decisions for another day,
because what I know 
is that they always have a home with me,
but it will never be in the same way again.

Today I am sad.

Photo:  My Baby Girl, 2003.