I’m feeling a certain kind of way about Mother’s Day this year. There are a lot of things factoring into the heaviness I feel. But maybe today I will just focus on what prompted the Haiku Sequence at the bottom of this post.
I have four kids, and they are all over 20. This year they will be 21, 24, 25, and 26. It has been such an amazing journey, watching them grow up into full-fledged adults living on their own, making their own decisions, getting married, getting divorced, ending relationships, starting new ones, getting mental health diagnoses, buying homes, buying cars they can go on long trips with, moving out. There has been pain and tension, but so much joy and growth along the way, for all of us.
And now I’m on the edge of empty-nesting. Our youngest will soon be moving out to Chesterfield, about 30 minutes away from us. When we moved into this house, Vi was the only one that moved with us. This dream home we have been in for over 3 years now began with me, Kris, Vi, and Dobby the House Schnoodle of course. Not only was Vi the only kid that moved with us, their friend Leo moved in with us just months after we did. So, the house has been full-ish.
And now, we are facing a new adventure. A 2600 sq foot house, holding just me, my husband, and my aging dog. And I can’t stress enough that I am absolutely excited for this next step in the journey. Kris and I went from being 19 and married, to 25 with 4 babies faster than any sane person does that doesn’t have twins or triplets. We have been raising kids (our own plus a few bonuses along the way) for nearly 26 years. Over half of our lives have been spent being parents. Prior to that, we were the kids being parented.
We grew up with our kids, essentially. Literally, spiritually, figuratively. So there is this sense of…I don’t know…confusion maybe surrounding this. It’s not a sadness. I love watching my kids open their wings and take off. It’s just an acknowlegment that life is going to change. Maybe not in huge, dramatic ways. But it will shift. And like with anything new, there’s a certain degree of trepidation. Just stepping into the unknown is a bit scary. But 2026 is the year of trying new things. And it looks like empty-nesting will be one of those new things. So I will face it like I have everything else. With bravery, with courage, and just the same amount of fear that I am handing over to Jesus.
And as I place the fear in Jesus’ capable hands, I’m left with these thoughts on what it means to be a mother who is always awake:
not ours to keep
moms are always on even in the deepest sleep we stay on alert
eyes and ears open instinct takes a steady hold you keep us awake
we never fully lower the defenses held to protect your heart
you live outside of the body we grew you in one heart beats in two
we bend and we break standing ever ready to give up our last breath
to keep you from harm if it saves your precious life we step in and hold
your hand, every hope never pausing for a thought loyalty is fierce
fierce as mama bears we will always reach for you as the seasons turn
we watch you with awe you are becoming yourself as pride overflows
as you choose and build the slow blossoming begins your life opens up
to a whole new world alive with a bright purpose toward the future you
embark on a path stretching far away from us we watch as you leave
awake and with hope trusting you will find your way as you sail away
on your own journey we are whispering a prayer asking god for peace
we have to let go though the ache is heavy now learning to let be
we loosen our grip setting you free to move on you’re not ours to keep
but our love remains it will always be waiting for you to come home
Jamie
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