Double Retrospective - Part II

Looking back over a quarter of a century, hearing one's own voice ringing across the years; it's a surreal experience.  In revisiting that recurring dream from time past, I relived every emotion, re-experienced the grief of losing my children to adulthood, and found I was totally unprepared for the surge - the intensity - of those feelings.  At the time those words were written, Allan and Tracey likely felt only the elation of moving on, escaping parental control and building their own futures.  I feel sure they were ready for the steps they took and that they had no idea how sad I was as I watched them walk away on their own.

Now, however, our children are at the same stage in their lives where I was all those years ago.  Allan (FABIII) and Aaron have moved on to college; Lindsey is working and a mother herself; Jamie is in her final year of high school.  While I'm sure that Cindy is grateful for the solace of having Adrian and Sarah Catherine at home, I'm equally certain that both she and Tracey completely understand the words I wrote back then because they are living that time right now.

Now I know how mistaken I was in hoping to avoid having an adult child move back home.  When Tracey returned with five-week-old Lindsey in tow, it was the beginning of a year during which we learned to appreciate each other as adults and to work together on a different level.

Now I know how gratifying it is to see one's children form strong marriages, learning to rely upon each other through all life's challenges, easy or hard, welcome or not.

 And now I have experienced what I had no thought of then - the rush of recognition and love every time I've held a brand-new grandchild.  The hope and expectation of watching them grow.  The empathy as I watch my children work so hard at parenting and caring for each one.  The bitter-sweet pain of watching as they, too, weigh anchor and sail off alone on longer and longer journeys.

 But I was dead right about two things:  That time of life when it’s just the two of you again is lovely and fulfilling.  And while the dream recurs seldom now, and the intensity of the loss is less,  in a corner of my heart I still long for the feel of small arms around my neck, for the trusting weight of a child leaning against me in the chair, for the even rhythm of sweet, young breath, for my children, safe and warm at home.