At the Crossroads

Here I sit at the next crossroads of my life. They seem to be frequent and heavy these days, with little time to process and evaluate the new stage of my journey.

Admittedly, I dreaded the first big turn in the road, when my first child moved away--eight weeks after her graduation and me seven months pregnant. It was a hormonal time. I soon realized that my girls would be distanced not only by age but by physical proximity, but I dreamt of the time they would bond during Christmas break and Evie's first summer.
That became an unrealized dream. The morning after I left Rexburg, Heidi met a guy--THE guy--and slowly I watched my carefully laid plan disintegrate. Not only did Heidi's engagement mark the end of my hopes for my girls, it trumpeted the end of my nuclear family--a loss I had to mourn. Never would my entire family live under the same roof again. Never would Evie have sleepovers with both of her big sisters. Never would I mother all my chicks as I had always done. It was beyond painful--the physical hurt bent me in directions I never knew I could twist. I prayed for strength at times. At other times, I prayed for understanding. And at one desperate moment, I remember praying with all my heart to be numb from feeling anything, for fear I would dissolve at the intensity of the pain I felt, like Elphaba in a puddle of my own tears.
Most of the time I recognized this phenomenon as stupid, but that didn't make it any less painful.

Five months after Heidi's wedding--I had come to grips with parenting a married child--she had chosen so well and I could see how happy they were. Tucker had left for college, and it was so much easier to see a child move away this time. And I wasn't pregnant. That could have been a small part of it.

Then the call came. Another crossroads. Heidi and Sam were starting a family: in seven months. I was shocked, but it was a long way away, and I would have time to acclimate to the idea, wouldn't I? This new title, this new responsibility, this new destination. I didn't feel that old--old enough to have a daughter having a baby.

I collected all of Evie's outgrown clothes, my well-used boppy pillow, and my breast pump. Better to give them to Heidi than Goodwill, right? Why was this so hard? I began preparing in abstract for the birth: where I would need to be and what I would need to prepare.

I just can't move past the signpost marking this new path. I still change diapers at my own house, still search for lost pacifiers under my own crib, still wipe markers from my own walls.

I don't want to face where this is dragging me--into the demographic of gray hair, elastic pants and pill bottles in my purse. I'm too young for this. I still volunteer at school and make kids practice the piano. I'm mourning the loss of motherhood--when it was my sole responsibility and completely defined who I was. Who I AM, right?

Now there will be a new me, one I'm hesitant to embrace, even though I know it will be filled with joy. A new me that I stutter to pronounce and almost cringe at the reference.

I gave my little kids an emotional goodbye hug this morning, knowing that when I return, I will be different, having assumed my new title.

Now, here I am, just minutes away from the signpost. My tears and my excitement have tag-teamed the entire day, wrestling for dominance. I know who will win. And I can never go back.

A miraculous FIRST bookending a glorious LAST. All part of the same journey. I guess it's time to take this new road.
I'll get my boots. I'm going to need them.

Happy Mother's Day.