SeeingRred
All of a sudden I feel the currents of a brewing tempest and the worrisome swirl of hot and cold apocalyptic clouds closing in. What is happening? Am I on the verge of losing my baby boy? These thoughts have got me clinging to the past and remembering… The bobbly wobbles of tiny feet, venturous, but always leading back to me. Soft, open arms reaching up expectantly for cuddles and kisses. Little pudgy hands gently tracing the lines of my smiling lips. I didn’t think of it till after, but maybe unconsciously that’s why this morning I revived one of our old favs, Apple Oat Pancakes, a recipe I’ve been making since my firstborn started eating solids.
Just over a year ago, he was still asking for nightly bedtime tuck-ins. I miss those times. Looking up together at the colour-changing lights, holding hands, saying prayers and singing to him. Most of all, I miss the talks when he would bring me into his confidence and find release by telling me about the frustrations of the day (mainly his annoying little brothers and his customary oppositions to karate practice:), his insecurities and fears for the future. The past year has been strange to say the least. Lockdowns, remote schooling and isolation have taken their toll on so many levels. With the pandemic as our daily distraction, somehow peri-menopause and puberty managed to sneak their way in, clamoring for centre stage.
I play out the scenes of months gone by, the unexpected and colossal CLASH OF THE TITANS. Tremors underfoot, my automatic defense is to fight back. With each of his turns, I manoeuver, then clamp down further, bow cocked and ready. Shadows shifting between dark and light, we take turns between hunter and hunted. Experience. Patience. Arrow nocked, bow drawn back with fistmele precision, target on gold. I am smug in my prowess. But, then he comes into full view and I see his gloriousness. Dashing figure, back straight and head tall, I see that the pinchable cheeks have been replaced with chiseled lines. His customary short quiff now a wavy, shoulder length, flipped back, exuding his own personal flair. I marvel at his magnificence. I am jarred by his unassuming valor, his fierce sword-grip and the steadiness of his raised shiny shield. In that instance of knowing, there is a shared understanding of this rite of passage, that it necessitates a bitter battle and a transformative end. So, I bow my head slightly in deference to the journey.
Pull-back from my reverie by cantankerous sub-text. I’d like to hold hormones hostage for the recent snarls, shut doors, and miserable mood swings. But, I know it’s all normal, as is the deep-voiced slayer’s frequent challenges of all that is established and true. With these changes come the ones that make me uneasy. As a parent, I worry that I won’t be able to tell the difference of what is normal adolescent behaviour and what is not. I think back to myself. Yes. I’ll try my best to listen more, criticize less and keep the lines of communication open. I’ll reach out if irritability shifts to unwarranted anger or rage. I’ll be on the lookout for the moment when complaints of hating the world and everyone in it, turn to hating oneself. I will make sure to intervene if ever I hear the words “nothing matters” or “I don’t want to be in this life anymore.” I promise to do all of these things. But, more than anything, I pray that I will catch the signs.
For now, I stand over my hot griddle, remembering to BREATHE and taking in the moments. And, as the air fills with syrupy sweetness, I know today we will lay down our weapons momentarily. We will find a point of jubilant connection and continuity over stacks of splattered pancakes made with gratitude and love. This is the movie of my life.
Soundscape: Lullabye, The Chicks
SUGGESTED READ: Ways to Release
Written January 18 – May 6, 2021
