Young adult – Cheeky Street

My son is about to graduate from college and he just texted me to say he has his first official job offer that happens to be 18 hours away from home. He has the most enormous heart and my Momma heart aches when I think about sending him out into the world. This is fiction, of course, since he will be turning 25 later this year and has long been tending to his gentle heart in the cold world. He will be fine and he will always lead with love.

Our dear Caryl is missing from the picture right now and I want to howl over the unfairness and anger I feel for the immense hole her absence has left for so many of us. She loved Mario and celebrated all of our wins as though we were her family. She and her family became our chosen family, as well as the extended tribe of friends she always included in her circle of care. She would be so genuinely happy and proud right now to see Mario pursue his passion and fly on his own. I miss her so much it is painful. Instead of looking for “the bigger lesson” as to why she had to leave so cruelly young, I will try to take a cue from her playbook of love and be happy, loving and supportive of those in my life who are here now.

At her celebration of life, a woman I have never met approached me after I read my thoughts (see previous post, “Caryl with a Y”) and said, “How wonderful for you to have been lucky enough to belong to her tribe. It makes me wish I had been part of her tribe!” Right before I read my tribute to Caryl, Mario read her dear friend Kris’s words about experiencing early motherhood together and walking one another through the parenthood journey with humor. Mario volunteered to read Kris’s words when she shared she just did not think she could get through it with such a heavy heart. I don’t know many young men who would offer to step in at such a tender time, but that was the moment I realized my son had become a wonderful man. It hurts very much to have gotten to this moment and not have Caryl to hug and celebrate with.

Many years ago, we gave Mario a health club membership before he could drive to give him someplace to go shoot hoops and hang out during the summer months. One day I came to pick him up and saw him walking alongside a very elderly woman and deep in conversation with her. When he got in the car I asked how shooting hoops had gone and he replied, “I never got around to it. I was in the hot tub with that old lady talking the whole time.” Listening to this, I had a hard time not losing it over the sweetness of his big heart. I just said it was as important to invest time and energy into people as it was to get exercise and I was proud of him for using his time that day in a way that his heart had led him. When I shared this story with Caryl, her eyes brimmed with tears and she let me know that Mario would always be okay because of his character. The same is true for her sweet boys, and in her memory, I plan to keep the door open with them so they will know they have a special place to go where they are loved.

These past few months have taught me you can arrive at milestones in your life and not have the people you thought would be traveling all roads with you at your side. I’m sad my son’s happy story is tainted with grief but immeasurably grateful that Caryl was a true witness to our family for many years. We hurt, we grow, we move on. Our hearts have little stitches that bear witness to the love we continue to hold. Soon, we will celebrate Mario’s graduation from the University of Kansas and feel grateful he knows not only how to make a living but also how to make a beautiful, soulful, big-hearted life.

I remember the day, at only 5 months old, you were sitting on the kitchen counter in your bouncy seat and forming the word “Mama!” with your determined little face. Nobody believed me when I later bragged about this but you and I knew and that was all that mattered.

You became the little girl who always wanted to help Mommy. You took my chicken-scrawled grocery lists and carefully and lovingly re-wrote them before heading out to Hy-Vee on a quest for Gogurt and bagels.

You were also fond of declarative statements. Many of them notable. As a toddler, when your Daddy would walk in from work and ask you how your day had been, you usually responded, “I didn’t have a day!” with great conviction. With Mom, your declarations were often about really important things you needed to do, like the day you came to me and said, “I want to dance!”. Thus began one of many journeys led by your indomitable spirit.

You were always very quick to pick up on stress or tension in the house and, in your own loving way, offered help. At only age 9, when Mom and Dad were very burdened with the weight of selling our dream house and picking up roots to the unknown, you quietly and efficiently followed the “Staging Lady” from room to room in our beautiful house and took careful notes about the work to be done. That’s who you are, Dear Girl, the one who can take up the sword and fight for your loved ones when they need it most and without expecting anything in return. This past Easter, when your teenaged brother was grieving terribly the death of a friend, you lightened everybody’s load with your surprise visit from college. You matter-of-factly parked your car in the driveway and walked up to me, I’ll never forget how I was planting begonias to mark and remember Mario’s friend. Your presence is a fortress to those in need, My Dear. You marched right into the house and just quietly began doing normal things but in a way your family knew you were there to support us in our time of need.

And most recently, Sweet Girl, you gave your Momma a weighted blanket for Christmas. I am not surprised you were the one who listened to me and addressed this need so lovingly. You know I am not bold like you are yet this does not disappoint or frighten you and how I love you for it.

Now you are on the brink of adulthood and life is showing your Dad and me you are prepared. I will spend the rest of my days in gratitude for the wonder that is you, my precious Isabella Bernadette. Your Grandpa summed you up correctly at a very young age and it is to our complete delight watching his prediction unfold. He said, “That little girl is going to call the shots every step of the way.” And you have and we hope you always will. I love you, Daughter.