"I'm trying to picture what it would feel like to not be permanently here, but caught between here and somewhere else. "
Michelle left these words in a comment last week and I’ve been thinking about them ever since. Probably because I’m trying to picture it too. I’m trying to picture a lot of things these days. Upon reading, my initial thought was not in relation to being caught between Connecticut and Vermont as she intended, but rather caught between a nest that requires an engaged level of tending, and one that is empty. I don’t write much about parenting an only child, despite requests to do so landing in my inbox more than any other. I guess I don’t know what to say; I’m not an expert on parenting a single child (is anyone?) so I do not feel qualified to answer most of the questions that come through. I only have our experience to go on, which is unique to us, and I’m not sure how that could be of help to anyone else. Actually, that’s not true. Of course our experience could be helpful to others, that’s how human interaction works. I think the real reason I don’t write about it is that a discussion about parenting an only child feels divisive, which is not something I’m interested in. Although, I have spent 18 years silently defending how “easy” I have it which got kind of old by the time Emily was four, so maybe… nah. I will say this though: when you have a single child, everything is amplified. This includes the relentless tick of the clock that reminds me daily – regardless of all the transition talk I’ve been spewing – how unprepared I feel for what is to come. In fact, the closer we get to that August day when she'll move five hours away, the less prepared I feel. Abruptly, this too big house will go from being filled with a bustling family, a family that has spent most of its days together, to one of quiet halls and empty rooms. I guess that is why I’m compelled to stay in the woods this summer; it is the only balm I can think of that soothes the caught between. I forget just a little. I relish the denial of reality, safe among the trees, if only temporarily. Because sometimes, temporary denial is exactly what a mother needs.
When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
– Mary Oliver
{Edited to add: As I reread this post, it sounds sort of melancholy, which is fine, except I'm not. Just processing… the one thing I am doing an excellent job with this summer. Thank you, as always, for being the best sounding board. xo}