New Year, New Me?

The warm feeling of a child holding my hand is a cherished memory.

Mike and I haven’t ventured far since returning from our months-long journey in October. I resisted the siren call to run to my nephew’s casita between Christmas and New Year, imagining quality time with Blue Boy, home on Christmas break. And how did that work out? you ask.

Unbeknownst to me, Blue Boy had come home from college with an ear infection, hiding away in his room to heal. He cocooned himself in a friend’s den on Christmas Eve as the rest of us, minus Mowgli, ate, exchanged gifts, and sang carols.

Joyfully, on Christmas Day, a week after his return, the five of us spent the day together. Five is small by our usual standards, the extended family now busy with their extended families. It was wonderful. We spent the morning opening presents, the afternoon relishing a marvelous dinner prepared by Misha, and the evening playing games around the table. All in casual clothing and minimal makeup.

And then, silence. Shadows float up and down the stairs and through the kitchen, assuring me that Blue Boy continues to occupy space at the house. Mowgli resumed his pattern of greeting us as he hunts and gathers, heating pizza bites in the kitchen or going out to retrieve a meal at a local spot, having learned that pick up is cheaper than delivery. Actual bodies appear for the occasional moments we run into each other.

Misha greets me as she leaves for work in the early hours and again when she returns in the evening. Fatigued after her long days, she heads to her room to prepare for the next long day. For a few years we were close friends. That relationship is fading as I sense she sees in me another old lady, another responsibility. The Chicago kids remained in Chicago this holiday, having done the family duty at Thanksgiving. Nini Dair called us on Christmas morning before her day got too hectic. My call to C-boy went unanswered.

All of this as a preface to a difficult insight: our kids don’t need us anymore. Not that they don’t care. But they don’t need us. When do young adults become full-fledged independent beings? I try to recall when I stopped calling my parents for advice or assistance. When did my visits become more of a duty than a delight? How do I be Mom with no motherly duties, Grandmother beyond the monthly tip I share with the boys? I understand the pressures on young families. They don’t need more burdens. How do I let them know I crave their attention without guilting them as my mother did?

We raised our kids to be independent. I wanted them to feel more confident than I had as a young adult. There is a touch of sorrow in our having succeeded. My mother ear is attuned to pick up the sound waves of my children, but they are faint. Now is the time to put myself first, I guess. Can I override my Midwestern Protestant work ethic to do it?