The hubby and I sat in the living room this morning before things got busy. Like usual, I'd think of something I needed to tell him the second he was immersed in watching a YouTube video. My interruption timing is impeccable.
I'd thought to tell him about the twenty minutes I'd spent with our oldest, Hayden, several nights ago in the garage. Before making my fourth interruption of the morning I was struck again by the thought Hayden no longer lives under our roof. As I thought to share about the short visit Hayden and I had, my throat protested and my nose started stinging, something that happens often since the kids have started growing up and away. So instead, I'm typing it out. Somehow it's easier. And maybe readers won't taunt me in my mildly emotional state like the person I'm so fond of interrupting.
Our oldest, Hayden, closed on his first house a little over a week ago while Jason and I were out of the country. How did he possibly manage without us? -The same way he got a truck on his own and became employed, with us on the sidelines.
Not only is our son moving out and getting a place of his own. We're getting closer to a wedding. He's starting a family of his own.
Helping take his things over to his new house last Sunday was a reminder. The apartment that sat dark behind our house last night is evidence. So was the short, but absolutely sweet conversation I had with my firstborn in the garage earlier this week.
Hayden is our conversationalist kid. Taking after me in this one area, he can talk for hours about anything, or nothing at all. Night owls when it comes to conversation, I can't count the times we stayed up late just to talk. Those times serve as some of my favorite memories, even the times when he vehemently disagreed with me just for the sake of having a spirited debate.
When Hayden stopped by the other night to grab his weights from the garage, I jumped at the chance to open the garage door and say hi. We had another one of our treasured conversations while I sat on top of a dusty storage container and he gathered lifting equipment. I asked about his day at work and watched how his new puppy followed his every step. It's ironic, someone's following him now.
Our talk reminded me of the scene in Father of the Bride where Steve Martin and his daughter play basketball in the driveway one last time. Perhaps we had our last long conversation before he says I will, to his sweet bride.
Don't get me wrong. I'm lucky. He found a house only a few minutes away. He found a girl who thinks he's as good as I think his dad is. She's like my third daughter who gets an equal amount of unsolicited advice as the other two girls. And she's just as good as Hayden at providing good company. We can talk for hours!
There was just a difference in this conversation. In nights passed he and I talked until I began to doze. We'd say goodnight knowing that I'd see him the next day. This time the rattle of the closing garage door seemed to hum that change is coming.
Naturally I'm feeling a little sentimental about it. Strangely, I'm a little excited. Much of the work I've done, those carefully laid out instructions, all the moral prompting, frequent reminders, the telling looks...they'll be quite limited if existent at all. That's the plan anyway.
I've been a devoted (even if not perfect) agent of God's instructions and His grace; careful to best show my son the way to go. I've loved him even when, especially when, he's gone a way contrary to the way I pointed.
There's still instruction and grace to be had. But not so much from me, as if any of the good was ever from me. He'll learn more in depth, and I'll be reminded, who we all really depend on. I'm thinking of it as a promotion for us both. He's become an adult. He's adding a beautiful girl to our family. And I'm a grateful spectator.