I wrote the following letter to my oldest son, Keifer, when he moved back to Arkansas from Florida several years ago. It is, I think, one of the best things I have ever written. When I originally posted it on Facebook, people I didn't even know remarked about how it touched them. It expresses feelings every loving parent can relate to. I hope it touches you as well.
You left this morning before the stars had faded. I know you could tell I tried to be strong. Yesterday, no tears betrayed the steely confidence I have in you, as you and your brother bantered in the kitchen while I prepared your favorite breakfast of waffles, bacon, and sausage. Your anticipation was electric as you packed and repacked every precious belonging so that no space in your car was wasted. Your loving gazes and quiet inquiries, “Are you okay, Mom?” were not lost on me. I was not okay. But through the eons of time, all mothers with cherished brood had come to this crossroad – the day they had to let go – and they pressed on, as I know I will.
But I think you do not know how you are as much a part of my being as the thread that holds the pieces of fabric together to make a cozy sweater or a warm, protective coat. You, your brother, and I – we were perpetual. At least, I took for granted that we always would be. Do you know how often you were in my thoughts? You have been gone mere hours, but the painful pricks to my heart happen at every turn. This morning, I stood in the corner of the kitchen pouring coffee, and instinctively I glanced into your room. The covers of your bed no longer revealed the sleeping form of a young man. The usual clutter on the floor that hinted at the busy young life that had no time to be refined had vanished. The corner desk where you sat so often chatting with friends on your computer or playing your favorite video games – disassembled now and part of the jumble of possessions that crowded your car. Oh, how I longed to see those things again, all in their places...normal. I turned to slip some bread into the toaster, and out of habit I looked through the blinds covering the kitchen window. The absence of your car parked at the curb in front of the house snatched away the comforting feeling that my son was safe in his room or tucked in his bed sleeping. I shook off the sadness as best I could and thought of something else as I looked through the windows to the back yard. The morning was beautiful, sunshiny and promising – a perfect day for diving, I thought. And immediately I wondered if yours and your brother’s work schedules would permit you to go...and there it was again – the stabbing realization that it would be a very long time until we slipped into the deep blue of the ocean and explored the wonders of it together. At every turn, with every thought, you are part of it. Did you know I thought of you so often, Son? Do you fathom how precious you are to me? The answer is clear. You cannot know until the day your own child slips out of the comfort and normalcy of your home, of your life, and makes a way for himself. But this you can know: I love you with all of my heart. So much so that I let you take a piece of it with you when I watched your taillights fade into the dark as you drove away from me this morning. I trust you with it implicitly, and I hope it brings you comfort when you are sorrowful, joy when you do kindnesses to others, honor in your accomplishments, humility when life’s lessons are hard, perseverance in the face of adversity, and peace when the chaos of life overwhelms you. And most of all, I hope it brings you back to me – safely and often.
Mom
July 14, 2012
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