On #2 Leaving the Nest

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

…THE DAYS ARE LONG, BUT THE YEARS ARE SHORT

August 29, 2017

Gabby leaves for college in a few days. Similar to when she was born and had a blank slate to life, she is now beginning a brand new chapter of her life with a blank slate. This time she is beginning with a host of 18 years’ worth of experiences created through childhood behind her. Anything is possible. Some of the potential possibilities are controllable, and others are circumstantial.

Two years ago I wrote my first blog about the experience of Thomas leaving for college (A Cold August Morning). It’s hard to imagine that half of his college years have elapsed and Gabby is now leaving the nest too.

It’s not any easier. It’s just as beautiful, yet heartbreaking. It is actually like a piece of me leaves with them. I feel emotionally like I’m giving birth again, and a piece of me is being taken away from me. There is an emptiness in my body. I know from the experience with Thomas that the pain goes away after a few days, very similar to the way a body heals itself after the birthing process.

I’ve spent much of this summer off the grid and taking care of a very intimate, private matter. Perhaps one day I will consider blogging about it, but for now it’s very personal and may always stay as such. It also happens to be a transformational time of my life, with my youngest biological child morphing into an adult and going out into the world solo before my very eyes. I have spent some time journaling, contemplating, and thinking about the passage of time. Certain experiences will string together to create a future you cannot yet see or imagine. At the time, you have no idea how important certain things are.

Gabby is beginning the journey cut off from the age and necessary schooling restrictions that kept her close to me and under my care for the past 18 years. I’m so excited, scared, and happy for her. I wish I could keep being there in the day-to-day, knowing when she gets home from work, what she is wearing, etc. But that is unhealthy. It’s time for me to let her use the wings I helped her grow.

How did my experiences get me to this point in time?

October 1994 – One fine morning around 3am

I am 18 years old. I am freshly out of Coast Guard boot camp and on watch at my first duty station on the USCGC Boutwell. I am standing my first “mids” watch in port. It’s dark, I smell diesel, and I can barely make out the visuals of my new surroundings. I hear water lapping up against the hull and my feet hurt in these dress shoes I’m wearing in the middle of the night. I am on Coast Guard Island in Alameda, CA. It’s a little chilly and I’m wearing an issued jacket over my uniform that isn’t very warm.

I’m standing watch with a BPOW (brow petty officer of the watch) on the brow of the ship. My role is that of the messenger. Sometime around 3am I am instructed to wake up the folks who are on the 4–8am watch shift. My thoughts become slightly fearful… wake people up? I thought about how I was woken up around 11pm by a male voice. It is still a bit strange and new to me to be in close quarters with strangers, and even more so to be exchanging such intimacies with males, such as waking someone up. Until now it didn’t dawn on me that I would have to do that too. Earlier, the BPOW walked me through who I was to wake up and where their berthing area was on the ship. I took notes. I have four people to wake up. One is a female and the other three are male. Of the three guys, two are in the same berthing area and one is in another. I plan to start with the female to get my feet wet, then the single male, and then the doubles. I glance at their names on the list. Everyone addresses one another by their last name. I don’t know many people yet, and I don’t know any of these folks. One of the names is Messeder. He will be my direct replacement as Messenger of the watch. Messeder the Messenger—I smile quietly to myself.

October 1994 – That same fine day around 1pm or so…

As the daily work is drawing to a close, I am assigned to sweep the port side of the ship with a handful of other Seamen. I am sweeping not far from someone I am pretty sure I hadn’t seen before. His hat covers most of his face since he is looking down as he sweeps. When I’m not paying attention, I hear him say, “Hello DeGrazia.” I look up. He has a semi-confident, semi-nervous smile. I think to myself I haven’t seen this one before; I would remember him because he is cute. He has a nice crooked smile and eyes that seemed familiar, almost like I should know them. I look down at the nametag on his working blue shirt. Messeder.

August 1995

Messeder and I are out on a Sunday afternoon. At some point in the past 10 months, I started calling Messeder by his first name, John. We have been dating a few months. However, since dating is prohibited amongst shipmates, we need to stay clear of any places we may be spotted.

This particular cool, sunny August afternoon we drive south from my apartment in San Leandro toward San Jose. We have no plans other than explore the area and spend time together. Somehow we happen upon a zucchini festival in Hayward, CA. We walk around, eat fried zucchini, and play some games. We walk toward the end of the festival and onto the sidewalk. We continue a few blocks until we find ourselves in front of a movie theater playing a movie called Nine Months. Since the movie is a few weeks old, it only costs a dollar. We decide to watch it.

In the movie, the unexpected pregnant main female lead reads the book What to Expect When You’re Expecting and wants the baby’s father to read it as well. He isn’t interested, they fight and break up, and in the fairy-tale ending, he reads the book and is there for her when she has their baby.

Nearly 4 years later

May 1999

It’s late in the afternoon on a weekday. It’s warm, bright, and sunny. All the windows are open in our Cape Cod unit on Otis Air Force Base. John and I are now married for 3 ½ years. I’m in the kitchen preparing dinner and reading. We have a two-year-old named Tommy, and I’m 8 months pregnant with number two.

I’m rereading the same book I read with Tommy, What to Expect When You’re Expecting. Apparently this book is quite popular among parents-to-be. With both pregnancies, each month I read the chapter that corresponded with my gestational timeline to learn more about what was happening inside my body and the baby.

Since I’m 8 months pregnant, I decide to read the ninth month and the closing chapter as well. I don’t remember reading this with Tommy, but the book talks about how messy and chaotic life will feel once the baby comes home, and how that chaos can last for years. It also suggests that one day, when the house is quiet again and the children have grown and left, you will miss that noise. I tear up and get chills. That moment feels so far away, but I can already sense how meaningful it will be.

18+ years later

August 26, 2017

It’s a bright, sunny, cool day. The summer is drawing to a close. The sun is rising later each morning and setting sooner each evening. The air in the morning is far cooler than the past few weeks, and last night it was downright cold while I was sitting outside on the porch with Thomas (we call him Tom or Thomas now).

John, Thomas, Gabby, and I are having an early lunch at Outback Steakhouse in Southington, CT. It’s only 11:30 in the morning and the restaurant is quite empty. It’s dark inside, but the sunlight floods the windows. We haven’t sat together for a meal, just the four of us, since Gabby’s 12th birthday in 2011, soon after John and I divorced following 15 years of marriage.

Thomas spent this past summer between his sophomore and junior year in college working and living in Rhode Island with his current girlfriend. He came home last night and is leaving tomorrow morning to go back up to school in Portland, ME. John drove down from Pittsfield, MA this morning where he lives. He just accepted a new job in Tennessee and will be training in Germany for two months. He is leaving in just over a week. Gabby lives with me but has been working at Panera nearly every night this summer. She is asleep when I leave in the morning and gone by the time I come home each afternoon. She will be starting her freshman year at the University of Rhode Island next Sunday.

John and I are on one side of the table. Thomas and Gabby are on the other. Thomas is across from John and looks like a younger version of his dad. Gabby sits across from me. For years people have commented that she is my little twin. We now have two grown children who are 20 and 18 years old. This is the nuclear family John and I started when we were not much older than these two in front of us. They very much look like we did back then.

What to say? There has been a combination of 23 years of laughter, fun, tears, pain, and growing together. Beginning tomorrow, the four of us are going our separate ways, farther apart than we’ve ever been before. Sitting here during this meal, we have a lot of conversation about the mistakes we made in the past as individuals and with one another. There is a lot of apologizing, explaining, and understanding. Gabby is the most cut off from the group, texting her colleagues about the evening’s coverage at Panera. John and Thomas are at the brink of potentially arguing a few times. I’m the one who probably feels the most surreal. I happen to look over at Thomas while he is talking to John. He has his father’s eyes—the same eyes I somehow recognized on the Boutwell that day.

While it’s incredibly likely we will be together again in the future, this is the last of the “raising children” phase as childhood is officially over for these two wonderful grown-ups sitting in front of me today. I didn’t know that first mid-watch on the Boutwell when I read the name Messeder that it would be my name for 18 whole years (as old as I was at that time), or that it would be the name of my future children. I couldn’t have possibly predicted what was in store.

Today

August 31, 2017

Tonight I’m sad and having a little difficulty coming to the realization that my time as a mom, in the way I’ve known it, is over. I still have an important role, though I don’t know what it is yet. The uncertainty of the future stirs up a bit of anxiety. Life is uncertain. I want to use these experiences as reminders in my life that every moment counts. Some will shape the future and others will just be a blip in the passage of life, but every single moment has potential. I want to be present more and just enjoy what is.

The years with Gabby were nothing but a blessing. She has gone from a helpless little baby to a fully grown woman. I can’t help but think back to some of the younger days when she needed me—times when she was afraid of having bad dreams and I would dust her arms with “sweet dreams powder” before bed. She used to snuggle up next to me on the couch and often put her arms around me and tell me that she loved having a compact, portable mommy (for whatever that meant). I coached her soccer team, and while braiding her hair one day at home she said she imagined the other girls on her team would be jealous because she was getting her hair braided by the coach. She used to want to work at the VA with me and said she was going to buy a house next door and always live near me. Recently I came across an old Mother’s Day card from her where she told me to do nothing but relax and that if I needed anything, I should just look to my right and she would be there to do it for me. She always loved cats and McDonald’s. Those little trinkets the kids buy at school holiday fairs that say #1 Mom and similar sentiments mean more now than they did then.

When Gabby found out her dad and I were divorcing, she was so sweet. We went to Hubbard Park that day and sat on a picnic blanket. Once she settled down, she said she understood and had even kind of predicted it. She was 11. She’s taken after me with planning, organizing, and baking. She works hard but has a healthy balance of taking it easy when she feels stressed (I wish I had learned that a bit earlier on). She’s also incredibly intuitive. I’m so proud of her.

I put a lot of heart into honoring Gabby on her 18th birthday (On This Day) just over two months ago. I knew the coming weeks were going to fly by and I’d be here, in this very place where that idea from What to Expect When You’re Expecting said it would be—where the noise, chaos, laughter, and tears would be missed once the house quieted down and the car was packed for college.

Though we aren’t back to normal quite yet. I am still a stepmother of two more who haven’t left the nest. It’s a more complicated, undefined role. Daren & I’s story is equally as complex and full of what initially seemed like uneventful life experiences that shaped the circumstances that led us to where we are today. It’s just about time to shift gears and move on to the next stage.

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On this day

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

On this day 18 years ago I woke up with a pain that I had never felt before. The sky was sort of light already. I looked at the alarm clock by the bed and it was 4:45. I wasn’t used to getting up so early, so the time in comparison with the light sky seemed a little strange.

I got up to use the bathroom and I noticed something else that was weird. Sign number 2 that something was happening. My pulse started to quicken as I crawled back into bed. Should I wake up my husband? It was a Sunday, a rare day to sleep in. What if I’m wrong? I tossed and turned but couldn’t fall back to sleep.

Before John woke up I had a few more pains, but still I wasn’t sure. The next day was my due date. Could I be in labor? I already had a two-year old, but he was a planned c-section, so I never experienced any dramatic water breaking, mucus plugs, or labor pains. I had no idea what to expect. John was convinced it was labor. I wasn’t so sure. The pain wasn’t bad at all. Just different.

That afternoon we had plans with Ned and Crystal who were friends of ours that lived around the corner of the Coast Guard base we lived on. They had a one-year old son named Frankie. He was just a year younger than our son Tommy. We went on a picnic somewhere in Sandwich, MA. It was an absolutely beautiful sunny day. John wanted to tell them that I might be in labor, but I didn’t want to risk being wrong. They were going to be watching Tommy when it was time, so John dropped the ‘news’ in the middle of the picnic. They were enthusiastic and supportive. I had pains all day, but it was so mild I was skeptical that I could actually be in labor.

After the picnic we went back to Ned and Crystal’s house for dinner and stayed until just after dark. We walked back home and put Tommy to bed. I was in the shower when the pain started getting slightly worse. It also seemed to be coming more frequently and timed perfectly apart. I got out of the shower, went downstairs and asked John to start the timer. It was around 10pm and it was dark out. 5 minutes apart. John phoned the on-call service for my ob-gyn and they advised we go to the hospital. We called Ned and Crystal who were still awake and excitedly awaiting Thomas’ arrival.

Falmouth Hospital on a dark, warm, humid evening. I can practically smell it. I went into some check-in area and was already 4cm dilated. Wow! This was happening. We got into a room and settled in. Somehow it was too late for me to get an epidural. I wasn’t upset by this information and decided to use the Lamaze breathing techniques I learned instead. I started with the first of the four breaths. Hours passed. The nurses and John kept offering all kinds of things to do, but I felt so comfortable and focused on the breathing that I was pretty darned content. Every so often I would ask what time it was. Midnight passed and it was June 7, 1999. My due date. John and I speculated about the sex of the baby. For some reason the physicians were unable to read the sex on my sonograms. Two weeks before that we paid $40 to a little ultrasound place in Dartmouth that specialized in determining the baby’s gender. They told us it was a girl. I was pretty excited because I did want a boy and a girl. But my spirits dampened when we told people and we heard story after story about how these places were wrong. John was pretty convinced it was a girl. I was remaining my usual skeptical self.

All of a sudden the nurses said it was time to start pushing. The pain did worsen, but never past the point where I felt I needed to start that next level of breathing. How could it be time? Not that there is ever turning back once you are pregnant, but at the time of pushing you really feel like there is no turning back now. No breaks – nothing… you just have to do this whether you want to or not. I don’t remember too much of this experience, but I do remember noticing it was starting to get light out again and realizing I had been up for 24 hours. I had the medical team and my husband all around me. I never felt alone and I never felt like it was more than I can handle. I kept thinking it will get worse, but surprisingly I was told that one last push was needed and tada – a baby girl was born!

5:00am exactly on Monday, June 7, 1999. Gabrielle Catherine Messeder. We decided on the name months before. We picked two names – one for a boy and one for a girl. We chose Gabrielle because we both liked it and didn’t know anyone by that name. Catherine was after my mom.

The next few hours and days were a reasonable blur. I remember distinctly feeling so good right after giving birth that I wanted to get up and walk around. The nurses warned me not to. It was so different than when I had Tommy and was under anesthesia and in a ton of pain. I was alert and able to hold the baby. Tommy came to visit and meet his new sister. He was excited. I used the hospital phone and my little phonebook I brought with me to call my family and friends. Visitors poured in. A day later I packed up and went home with this new bundle of joy.

We started calling her Gabby almost right away. Tommy adjusted pretty quickly. I was used to diapers and baby things so child number two was an unexpected breeze. I remember when she was 3 or 4 days old I was changing her clothes upstairs in her room and I put a headband on her head. I was so excited to have girl clothes and pink things to doll her up in. The headband looked kind of silly. While I contemplated whether or not to leave it on, I heard the hustle and bustle of my crazy family coming in the door downstairs. It was my mom, grandmother, aunt Fran and Uncle Joey; who was visiting from Italy. I don’t remember if I kept the headband on or not, but I do remember bundling her up and gently carrying her downstairs. When I came around the corner and started walking down the stairs, it was almost as time stopped. I saw my family standing there with their bags and purses looking up at me. For some reason I said, “Here she is everyone – Miss America.” I teared up when I said that, and I had a vision of a day in the far, far future when she would be all grown up and walking down the stairs in a prom dress. My standstill moment was interrupted when the family broke out into Ooohs and Aaahs and everyone wanted to look at and hold her. Time went back to its normal pace and I welcomed my daughter to her small, loud, extended, Italian family.

Those first few weeks were a complete blur. I was prepared for the worst, but everything was mild and well functioning to say the least. I got more sleep than I thought I would. Tommy adjusted better than I imagined. Things were nowhere near as hectic during the day while I was home alone as I was told they would be. Almost immediately I put Gabby on my lap while I read books to Tommy at night before bed. He didn’t mind. I would put her baby tub in the bathtub with Tommy at bath time so they bathed together and they both adjusted just fine. I think the routine we kept got her sleeping regularly pretty quickly. Before I knew it the familiar signs of the beginnings of rolling over started to take place. Then it happened! Solid foods were introduced in what seemed like a flash. Suddenly she was sitting up on her own. Then leaning forward to slither like a navy seal to chase after Tommy. In what seems like a moment in memory she started to crawl, walk, talk, run, and play. We celebrated her first and second birthday on Cape Cod with our neighbors and their children. When Gabby was 2 ½, John got out of the Coast Guard, and we packed our bags to head for Connecticut.

Gabby’s 3rd birthday was in our newly owned condo. We had only just been there a few months. I remember it so distinctly. It was the first of many parties we had there, so it was the first time we moved the table a certain way and bought and prepared food in what would become the pattern for hosting similar events. That same year Tommy started kindergarten and I went back to work full time. It was the first time that Gabby would be watched by anyone other than me or her father. She and her brother had to go to daycare. A few weeks into kindergarten Tommy was invited to one of his new friend’s houses for a party. The boy’s name was Justin. When John called to RSVP, Justin’s mom said it was ok to bring the whole family over. New friends were born for all of us. Justin was just about 6 months younger than Tommy. And his little sister Sierra was 2. She was 6 months younger than Gabby. Within just a few months, their mom Sherrie started watching our kids and they no longer went to daycare. The kids all became good friends.

Everyone knows how time flies. Birthdays came and went. Our friends moved away. We had a plethora of different day care scenarios intermingled with John on shifts and staying home with the kids as often as possible.

I remember the day Gabby started kindergarten. It was just she and I at home that day. She was enrolled in the PM session. We waited inside all dressed up for the bus that afternoon. She was SO nervous. One of our cats “Snickers” was sitting on the desk by the front door. She was kissing him and talking to him, telling him it was ok – that he will be fine without her. My heart melted. Finally the kids started lining up outside at the bus stop at the corner. We walked out there and I met some of the moms. Gabby wouldn’t let go of my hand. She was shaking. When the bus came and everyone lined up, she just let go and bravely stood there on line with everyone else, shyly looking at me. Then the girl in front of her started he started talking to her, and continued to do so while she climbed on. I knew she would be ok. I stood on the curb as the bus pulled away. She found a seat in the back and waved to me out the window with a big smile on her face. My little girl was growing up and away from me.

Whenever I was home (rarely), I made it a habit to watch the kids get on the bus from the storm door of our condo. They would sit at a window on the bus and wave as it went by. Now that seems so symbolic.

I miss those days. Gabby never had a problem making friends or her teachers proud. She fit in wherever she went. She got great grades. She ate well. We lived in a neighborhood with a ton of kids. She and Tommy got to experience that life that most of the older generation experienced as kids, which nearly no children have now. They played outside daily with the neighbors. The condo was up against a pond and the woods, so it was a kid’s paradise. They and their friends learned to ride bikes one at a time. They ate snacks from each other’s houses, had sleepovers, played manhunt, played videogames inside one of our homes when it was raining or too cold. They dressed up, played with sticks and swords, caught frogs, told stories, and spent hours in the woods with the trees, insects, and plants. They couldn’t wait to go back outside after dinner and had to be called in at dark. In those days John worked evenings often. I would call them in, have them shower and read them a story. Like I said, I miss those days.

When Gabby was almost 9 years old we moved to Cheshire. The kids were naturally nervous and didn’t want to move. I remember when we bought the house. Before we moved in we went in to meet a contractor one evening who would be finishing off the basement, and spent a little time in the house measuring that day. I distinctly recall standing in the living room measuring, and looking at the stairs. I flashed back to that day when Gabby came home from the hospital in Cape Cod and I walked down the stairs with her, imagining one day she would be all dressed up for prom. Again, tears filled my eye. I tried to picture her walking down those stairs. It made me sad, but some how I had a foreboding that she wouldn’t be coming down those particular stairs.

We moved at the end of 3rd and 5th grade so we kept the kids in Naugatuck at their old school for the last few weeks. Before school started in Cheshire, there was a little welcome day for new students. Tommy was completely confident (at least he acted as if he was), but Gabby was really nervous. The day we went to Chapman Elementary School to meet her new teacher she was a wreck. I remember walking up the stairs with her. Like that first day of school she was holding my hand and shaking. When we got to the classroom she held on until the teacher said hi. At that point she let go and walked in front of me into the classroom. Again I knew she would be alright.

Less than two years after moving to the new house, I understood why I had that foreboding about the stairs and prom. John and I were parting ways. I had a few living arrangements before moving into the house I now live in with Daren. Nothing seemed right or fit that prom image I had for Gabby until we got here. I never told anyone this weird feeling I had with the prom and stairs, but when I saw the stairs in my house now; I knew these would be the ones. It made me sad though because her dad and I weren’t together. How would that work? How would he see her? How sad that both of her parents wouldn’t be looking at her fondly.

Braces, glasses, puberty. It was a whirlwind. Suddenly Gabby turned 13, then 14, 15, 16. I took her up to the DMV right after her 16th birthday. Again she was incredibly nervous. Her friend Grace was there too. I was a prop along with Grace’s mom as they stood on line nervously laughing and giggling together. She was going to be fine. She didn’t need me. She walked out with her permit and excitedly asked if we could practice right then! We drove up to Home Depot and switched places for the first time. I took a picture to capture what I knew would be a fleeting moment. This was the second child that I was to teach how to drive. Naturally it was much easier knowing what to do. Everything with her was easier since she was #2. We went through the same practice cycles I did with Tommy up until the last day before the test. And before I could blink she was driving at 16 and 4 months old.

All of a sudden it was time for college visits and SATs. That next summer she got a job and had her own money. Senior year appeared. Senior Day for Cross Country. The last banquet. The last fencing tournament. Everything started swirling so fast. College was chosen. Then sadly 3 ½ weeks ago was the day I was able to see my daughter walk down the stairs for her senior prom. Her dad and I are on really good terms and he came to the house to see her and take pictures. I never knew how it would work, but I knew it would. That day I practically dreaded since I brought her home from the hospital has already come and gone. She looked absolutely beautiful and was glowing from the inside out. Now tomorrow she officially becomes an adult.

As with my labor I was always waiting for it to get harder with her, more than I can handle. But it never did.

When Gabby was around 7 years I remember listening to a country song about how quickly a daughter grows up and leaves home. I was playing it loudly when I was alone with the kids at the condo one night. Gabby was dancing around when she listened to the words and said mommy that will never be me. I don’t want to grow up and move away from you. I told her she would and she didn’t believe me.

I was always waiting for those famous mom/teenage daughter “I hate you” fights to happen, but they never did. Every year that passed I thought – it’s one year closer to that possibly never happening, but knowing darned well it could. As with my labor, it never did get harder – but I couldn’t stop the process of her growing up either. It was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not.

On this day 18 years ago I was in labor with a little baby girl. I still remember exactly how it felt when she hiccupped in my belly. I can vividly recall watching my belly move on it’s own as Gabby moved around slowly in the little space my body created for her. I remember the smell of her skin after a bath and she was all swaddled and on my lap for a book with her brother. I remember wiping messy food from her pudgy fingers after a meal. That first day of kindergarten when she was telling Snickers he was going to be fine without her there. I remember the day she met Sierra back in 2002. They are still the bestest of friends. Lastly I can of course remember her very recent senior prom; coming down the stairs all dressed up to be taken out by her date. Tomorrow that little baby becomes an official adult. No longer protected by driving curfews or minor labor laws. She is released out into the adult pool with the rest of us.

She just came home from work and sat eating in the dining room, watching something on her phone as she often has done for the past year. Soon she will be in college and I’ll just have the ghost of this memory too. My heart is broken, but in the best way. I’m so proud of her.

Tonight 18 years later I’m going to sleep with a pain I’d never felt before. The last of my two babies is an adult. It’s nothing more than utterly and completely bittersweet.

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On the passage of time

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

It still hurts after 10 years. The same exact pain at times. The same heart-wrenching squeeze that comes in waves while I’m experiencing grief. It feels like my heart is being rung out.

The first time I felt this so strongly was around this time of year 11 years ago when my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer. She died 10 years and 2 months ago. She was only 49. October 25th would have been her 60th birthday. My grandmother, who I was even closer with, passed away just 11 months later—also from lung cancer. She would have been 89 this year on November 21.

I miss them. Tonight, I’m especially missing them.

Them. Because they passed away so close together, we often refer to them as “them.” I don’t think about this often, but tonight I’m mourning and it’s on my mind. I was crying and having a hard time breathing in bed, so I got up and decided to pour it out—onto a keyboard instead of paper.

People who have lost someone close understand how grief can capture you by surprise. How it moves through your body. How, in those moments, it can feel like it will never let go.

They may also understand the strange comfort that can come when you feel the presence of the people you’ve lost. When I’m inconsolable, I feel them. Both of them. Always together, always comforting. I don’t know if it’s memory, energy, or something beyond what we understand—but I’m certain something about them helps me get through it.

Tonight I found myself thinking about who “we” are—the small group of people who still hold them together like this.

My brothers. My aunt. They understand immediately. I can tell them I had a dream, or that I’m having a hard night, and they just get it.

Then there’s John, my ex-husband. He was part of my life and my family when we were young, when my parents were still together. He knew them. He understood the dynamic—especially between my mom and grandmother. They were opposites. They annoyed each other, complained about each other, but loved each other deeply.

I remember one night soon after my grandmother passed. I was hysterically crying, and John said, “I bet when your mom saw grandma in the afterlife she said to her ‘So soon?’”— I stopped crying and started laughing. I still laugh about it today. It was exactly what she would have said.

I don’t talk to John much anymore, but I know if I needed to talk about them, he’d understand.

My father comes to mind too. He lives a bit in his own world, but he has moments where he reflects on them. Even though my parents were divorced, he’ll speak fondly of my mom and recall memories with my grandmother. Sometimes those conversations can shift in ways I don’t want them to, but the connection is still there.

My uncle. Maybe my kids, in a different way—but they didn’t fully know them like we did.

And that’s what hit me tonight.

How few people are left who truly knew them the way I did.

It made me think about time.

Thomas was supposed to come home this weekend. I had his room ready, stocked with his favorite foods. I was so excited. But work got in the way, and he couldn’t make it. I know I should just feel grateful he’s healthy and doing well—but I’m still sad.

Gabby is in her last year of high school. Soon she won’t be home every day either. Then there will be partners, new families, new traditions. Holidays will shift.

Up until now, I’ve had them for everything. Every holiday—big and small. I made a big deal out of all of it. Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Halloween—especially fall. Baking, decorating, pumpkin picking.

And now I can feel that chapter starting to close.

I always knew this would happen. I understood it intellectually. But tonight, I feel it.

My grandmother used to tell me to enjoy this time. To relax and take it in. I didn’t fully understand then.

I do now.

And I’ll probably understand it even more deeply 20 years from now.

We think we understand things before we actually do. We don’t.

We grow older. Our kids grow up. People leave our lives in different ways. Nothing stays the same.

The things we take for granted won’t always be here.

The world is impermanent.

Why do we think we can hold onto anything?

Maybe the real wisdom is understanding that change is inevitable—and that sadness has a place alongside happiness.

And maybe peace comes when we stop fighting that.

Time has given me space between moments of grief, but it hasn’t erased it.

Time has given me older children, but I don’t love them any less—or feel their distance any easier.

Time has given me more understanding, but often only after the moment has passed.

And time will keep moving.

Maybe this is a little too deep for some. Tonight, I feel deep.

I’m sad that this chapter of raising my kids is shifting.

And mostly, I just really miss my mom and grandma.

So tonight, before I try to sleep, I’ll think of John’s comment—

“So soon?”

And I’ll let myself smile.

Peace.

Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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A Cold August Morning

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

Thursday, August 27, 2015

I am walking our dog Koji. It is the first day this summer when I am out in the early morning and the air actually feels cold. I think about how it always feels this way at this time of year. Each summer there is a specific day where I wake up and it’s a bit chilly, unlike the day just before. I recall the first time I had this realization just 13 years earlier. Tears fill my eyes, a lump fills my throat.

That day was August 26, 2002. Until that day in since Tommy (my oldest son) was 15 months old I had been a stay-at-home mom for the most part. I was in college and I worked part-time at A&P and was in the U.S.C.G Reserves, but only opposite my ex-husband’s shifts. At that time Tommy was 5 and his sister Gabby was 3. It was my first day of work at what I considered at the time a “real” full-time job. It was also Tommy’s first day of kindergarten. When my alarm went off that morning the sad realization that I had to get out of bed before my body or the kids woke me up was startling. My initial gut reaction was that it would only be for today, but it quickly sunk in that this would be the sensation I would have every morning going forward. Ugh. I wasn’t quite ready to go into the work force. My then husband and I were really struggling to make ends meet since he got out of the military just a few months earlier. My working full time was a necessity for us. I felt extremely tired. I distinctly remember when I walked from the bedroom to the bathroom that morning that it felt cold. It was so very unlike the warm summer mornings I had been used to, even just the day before.

I begrudgingly waited for the shower water to warm before heading in. I wasn’t sure how the new morning routine would work, how long it would take to get ready, and get the kids dressed and fed before dropping them off at their new daycare. I was a bit worried. Nervous butterflies. My husband went to work hours earlier for his own shift, and I was left to get the kids ready for this first day of something new for all of us alone. I dressed and woke the kids. They too were not used to being woken up. And by golly – it was just chilly in the air. Somehow I don’t remember much about the morning or how I got them situated or where they thought they would be going; but I do remember being cold when we first got in the car, and driving over to Buttons & Bows daycare in Naugatuck. They weren’t nervous or excited or sad – they just were. It was me who had those feelings. Overall I was sad. Today was Tommy’s first day of kindergarten, and neither I nor his father would be there to witness this very special occasion. The bus would come pick him up and cart him off to school with the other children whose parents worked.

Somehow the sadness quickly passed as I started the drive to the new job, trying to navigate unfamiliar roads with a print out of map quest directions in hand. More nervous butterflies. Where to park? Wow, there are so many people who work here walking into the building! Will I find the right room in this massive hospital I was entering? Am I really qualified for this job?

Somehow I made it to the correct room to start a two-day orientation. Everything was new and unfamiliar. I was almost in a trance, there was too much to take in and it wasn’t all quite registering. Sounds, lights, colors, smells. The VA Hospital felt like the military somehow. Familiar, but not quite. At certain parts of the day I thought about being home with the kids and how much fun we had that summer. Then I thought about them at Buttons & Bows, and how they must feel similar to me. I felt sort of guilty for some reason. Lunch time came and I went outside. What struck me the most was that it was hot! I had to take off the sweater I put on at the last minute that morning. I ate my lunch in the warm sun, alone and nervous. I didn’t define myself as someone who worked outside the home. I felt like an impostor. I checked my two day old cell phone that I had just gotten from Cellular One that previous Saturday. No one called. That must mean the kids are doing well. I went back inside and finished up the day.

When I got home that evening the kids had already been picked up and were settled in at home. They were beaming about their day. They were OK! Tommy told us as much as he could in 5-year old vocabulary about school. I was sorry I missed it but glad to know that they were happy. I wasn’t as excited about my day as they were, but it was a success. I came to the sad realization that as they were going to get older I would be missing many other things in their lives. This is a normal and expected part of children growing up, but worse for parents who work.

The next day I woke up and it was cold again. And by the time I left work in the late afternoon it was downright hot [again]. It was the same the next day, and the day after. Until the crisp autumn days began to swallow up some of the heat, and when I left work those afternoons there was a chill in the air. And so it goes, the seasons change. The winter came and I had to really bundle the kids up in the morning. Just a few short months later when the snow melted and there were signs of spring, my car felt surprisingly warm in the afternoons. Eventually the mornings warmed up too. Before I knew it, it was late August again and I remembered the previous year’s sensation when I experienced the first of the cool mornings and hot afternoons. A year went by in a flash. Then so did two years, then three, and now 13.

Today, 13 years later, this first cool morning air following the humid summer mornings is all too familiar. This particular morning I am filled with an unbelievable sadness. I blink back the tears as Koji happily pulls me along on his leash. I inhale deeply trying not to cry, becoming slightly distracted from my own thoughts in an attempt to make smoke rings like I’ve seen pictures of American Indians doing with the condensation of my breath. I notice the heat from Koji’s breath too. Tomorrow we will be bringing Tommy up to college in Maine. His entire school career had come and gone in the blink of an eye. A few months ago our families came from New York and North Carolina for his high school graduation. Cards from relatives near and far poured in. It was our mailbox that had the graduation balloon. It was hot out. It seemed like there would be so much time before he had to leave for school 3 months later. And here we were. Tomorrow was the day.

Hints of light are coming through the sky as Koji and I walk the streets of our familiar neighborhood. I reflect back on the past 13 years. They went by so quickly. When I first started working I imagined I would only do so until my ex and I got back on our feet. I really wanted to be home with the kids. That first winter started the many years of snow-fretting that parents who do not work outside of the home likely do not realize. Which parent would stay home when both school and daycare closed? I had to use my vacation days when it was my turn, which diminished time with the kids in the warm months when they were home with little to do. I did however cherish those early snow days. I would make hot chocolate with marshmallows and graham crackers with peanut butter for breakfast. They would squeal with excitement about this special snowy day treat. Years later when the kids were teenagers and there was a snow day, and my now husband and I went to work since they were old enough to stay home; it was Tommy who would wake up and prepare this same treat for his sister and two younger step-brothers.

After the first year passed of my being in the workforce full time, my now ex almost went back into the military. Even with both of us working full time and me keeping my old part time job at A&P, we were still struggling to make ends meet. We were all prepared to make the entrance back into military life. I was kind of excited. I would be able to stay home again and pretty much wherever we got stationed, the location would be a new area to explore. The kids were a bit nervous about this change, but I don’t think they fully understood it. Just before we had to make the final commitment, I got a promotion at work that resolved all our financial problems. We thought long and hard about whether to take the plunge and stay in the civilian world, or head back to the military family life we were used to. My ex wasn’t crazy about going back in and here was out opportunity to make it in the “real” world. I quit the job at A&P and only worked at the VA. The kids were ecstatic. I was a little disappointed, but trucked on.

Just a year later my ex got a new job and huge raise. We were at last not only financially free, but had breathing room. For the first time when I went grocery shopping I didn’t have my eyes on sale items only. When the kids asked for a cereal off the shelf, I was able to say yes. It felt great!

For a short period of two years time while I went back to school to get my MBA, I cut my hours back and had Thursdays off. The kids ended up loving Thursdays. I did too. I would wake up before dark and get a start on my schoolwork. The kids were able to sleep in a little, and when they woke up I would always make them a special breakfast since the other days of the week were rushed. I would then lovingly get them off to school on the bus in front of our condo instead of dropping them off at daycare or with a neighbor. I would go back to my studies, usually taking a break at lunch to walk by the pond down the street and then heading home to whip up a batch of some sort of homemade dessert. The kids usually knew I would have some treat after school waiting for them. They would come off the bus with big happy smiles on their faces while I waited at the door, excited to see me- but also looking past me to see what kind of goody awaited them inside. They’d drop their backpacks and sit at the table with their after school snack and a glass of milk. We would talk about the day and then split up again until dinner time. If it was warm enough they would go out to play with the other neighborhood kids.

I had many different daycare arrangements while the kids were in their early elementary years. Friends and neighbors, different daycare locations, odd shifts with their father watching them for partial or full days. It was a constant struggle worrying if their dad would be late, the sitter or their children would be sick, or the daycare would be closed.

When Tommy was in 4th grade I finished my MBA and was promoted to a new job. I had mixed feelings about it because it meant I had to go back to work full time. I really felt bored in the position I had and was ready for a change. Accepting the new position meant more money and less boredom, but the trade off was that I had less time to be a mom. The choice wasn’t easy. The kids were rather proud of me and were only slightly disappointed that I would no longer be home Thursdays. We had enough money to buy a house and move the kids to a town with a good school system, and into a neighborhood where they could ride their bicycles in the street. Tommy was at the end of 5th grade when we moved to Cheshire. He was excited while Gabby was very hesitant. I had no reservations about moving and continuing to work at this point. It was 2008. I did worry about how we would manage when the kids were teenagers and could get into trouble after school with a lack of after school care as my catch net, but there would be time for that.

Only there wasn’t. In the blink of an eye the years flew by. My ex and I started having marital problems before we moved to Cheshire and they did not resolve themselves. My efforts were spent working to save a failing marriage, then a divorce, new relationship/home/step-kids; working on helping the kids and pets adjust while trying to nurture a new partnership; all of which moved incredibly quickly. At one point I attempted to apply for one day of telework per week. For two weeks while the paperwork was being routed Gabby would excitedly ask me every day if I heard anything back. Tommy was a little too old at the time to care and was indifferent. When I did find out that my request was denied, Gabby put on a brave face and said it will be alright. I myself felt hardened somehow.

Another blink of an eye and I was suddenly teaching Tommy to drive. He got his license, then a job of his own. Before I knew it he was taking SATs and his high school was having student-parent sessions about the college application process. Another promotion opportunity came up when Tommy just started his senior year. I wondered if trying to learn a new job would be too difficult in my increasingly complex home. It was Tommy’s senior year, we just got a new puppy, we were having problems with my husband’s ex, and my own children were having issues with their father. Again I felt a bit bored in my current position and it was a toss up between money and learning versus focused home time and boredom. I took the job.

A whirlwind of college visits ensued and then the application process seemed to be over in a heartbeat. Tommy always wanted a puppy and took the brunt of the responsibility for training, feeding, and walking the dog. The holidays came and went. Tommy found out he got accepted into all the school he applied for. My husband and I went on the acceptance visits circuit. There were suddenly senior pictures & events all around, and then the culmination of the graduation. Now here we are. I don’t know how it happened, but my little boy grew up and was about to move away. Until a few days ago I thought I would be fine, but now that this change is staring me in the face I’m completely broken up. I will be one of those parents who cries and hyperventilates the whole way back home from the college drop off.

I am rounding the corner with Koji back toward my house. In another minute I’ll be inside on one of the last mornings that will feel normal. Of all the firsts and celebrations that make the fanfare throughout the years like first birthdays and other milestone birthdays, first day of school, communion, end of sport seasons, concerts, start of high school, graduation etc; the most transitional moment happens very quietly. There are no family and friends visiting and celebrating or handing out presents or money. Hardly any of our family even knows which day Tommy is leaving. It will be a quiet drop off. Just me, his sister and his step-dad. His dad moved away and is living in Massachusetts, treating tomorrow like any other day. My friends and the people I work with hardly have a clue that my heart is breaking. I knew back in 2002 that I would miss many things throughout the years. Only I did not know at the time how quickly it would go. In these years Tommy learned to read, ride a bike and navigate peer pressure. He went through puberty, had his first kiss, first girlfriend, first heartbreak. We had normal teenage ups and downs without too much drama. Now he was a grown man. This all happened in front of my eyes while I spent these precious years in the workforce.

We are just feet away from my house now. Koji doesn’t want to go back in and very deliberately sniffs the grass across the street. I pause and let him, looking over at my warmly lit home while I shiver in this cold August morning. That same lump fills my throat. I worked for 13 years and let his life pass. Would it have been any different if I stayed home? Did I have a choice? Does it matter? Will Tommy or Gabby ever understand how much they mean to me? I feel the need to let people know how emotionally challenging it is to be a working mom. It can only be worse for a single parent. Most workplaces including my own are not very flexible and do not allow compressed, flex or telework schedules. Would the world be a different place if the organizations understood the challenges faced by single parents or two adults in that work outside the home? All I can do now is go back inside, put on a brave persona, take my little boy to college tomorrow and continue on knowing that I did the best I could. It will warm up and be hot this afternoon. The mornings going forward will be cooler, and soon the days will as well. The seasons will go on and life will continue.

“Come on Koji-poo” I say. Koji looks up at me, I give him a slight tug on his leash, and we head back inside ready to tackle another day.

 

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