Four more years
I first heard the ticking of the clock at Jackson’s 8th grade graduation. It was faint but noticeable. “Four. More. Years”, it whispered.
The buzz of summer activities drowned out the ticking until two-weeks before school started when I took Jackson to freshman orientation. While we entered the cafeteria together, Jackson was quick to part from me and find his friends. I too found friends, though kept stealing looks behind me to where Jackson was bouncing around with a group of boys I knew well.
The morning kicked off with a brief welcome from the freshman principal and then the students were escorted down a back hallway. Collectively, the parents, still seated at the cafeteria tables, turned to watch the backs of our babies’ heads as they headed down the long hallway away from us.
And in that moment, the clock became deafening.
FOUR. MORE. YEARS.
FOUR. MORE. YEARS.
I turned to the mother sitting next to me who, through glassy eyes, admitted, “Well, that was more emotional than I expected.” Not trusting my voice, I nodded in agreement.
The following week my parents came to visit, and I told them how I couldn’t believe that I only had four years left with Jackson.
“I remember feeling that way when you started high school,” my dad offered in solidarity.
“What do you mean? We’re still not rid of you!” My mom teased.
And she’s right. You never stop being a parent. One or both of my parents have dropped everything in their lives to travel to be with me when I have needed them. Or welcomed me home with open arms and a place for respite. And they still offer advice and provide comfort even from afar. I am so grateful for them.
We don’t stop being parents - but the relationship changes when the child leaves home.
As it should. My mom often reminds me that (typical) parenting includes launching your child into an independent life. Raising a child is about teaching them the skills they will need to be a compassionate and responsible adult who can take care of themselves and others. That’s simplifying it of course, but I try to keep these little essays to under 800 words.
However, acknowledging this has only caused the clock to become louder. We ONLY have four more years to make sure he has all the skills he needs to enter the real world. Which isn’t entirely true. We anticipate Jackson will attend college, which I like to think of as adulthood with training wheels: the stakes are raised but many kids can still take comfort in a safety net. Even when the four-year countdown ends, there will still be plenty of time to teach him.
But there is more to my emotion than making sure I am fulfilling my parenting responsibilities. That is my baby! And I’m not ready for weeks and months to go by without seeing and hugging him. He already tells me so little, how will I learn anything about his life when we no longer share a roof? I only have to look at how fast the three years of middle school went to know that high school will go by just as fast.
OK, I might be spiraling a touch. That said, I know this is a natural progression and as he grows and changes over the next four years so will our relationship. And that I will *hopefully* feel more prepared for this inevitable transition four years from now than I do today… or not.
So here is what I am reminding myself. While I know four years can go by in a flash, it can also contain an entire lifetime. We are also so freaking lucky to be able to watch Jackson grow up and to be able to plan for his independent future. None of this is guaranteed.
Maybe that sounds grim, but having a sick kid and then losing them tends to have an effect on what you take for granted. My children surviving to adulthood happens to be one of those. I remain grateful for every day we have together.
Which is perhaps why this damn clock is so freaking loud. Four years was all of Adelaide’s life, and while I will not be saying goodbye to Jackson the same way we did Adelaide, well, the act of letting go definitely pushes on some painful bruises. We’re not there yet, though.
I try swapping out ‘only’ for ‘still’. We *still* have…
Four. More. Years. The clock chimes in (as if I’ve forgotten).
Four years of memories to make. Four years of mistakes and consequences, wishes and celebrations, regular days and extra special ones. So much life, so little time.
ID: Five year old Jackson wearing a white polo and dark pants sitting at a school table on his first day of kindergarten. He is looking toward the camera making a silly face with his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth.
