Make Room

It is Five A.M. on a Tuesday. This is my first day of creating a new writing habit. I have been thinking and planning toward this moment for far too long.

Yesterday was Labor Day. Instead of going on a hike on the beautiful summer day, I cleaned organized, and reconstructed the rooms in our home. 

It all started with one room.

To back track, last Wednesday we helped move our nineteen year-old son to his first apartment. He had been mentioning that he was moving for a few weeks, but somehow my mothering heart just couldn’t hear it, until last Wednesday. 

Thankfully he wasn’t moving far so it wasn’t hard loading all of his things into our mini van, and yet it was hard loading all of his things. It wasn’t a long drive, but the journey getting here had been much longer, nineteen years to be exact. 

We pulled up to an old home with a big front porch that had been divided into apartments. He had  the one in the basement. The steps to his place were narrow and steep so we carefully unloaded all of his things.

I took him to the grocery store to pick up some food for the week. He seemed a little annoyed that grocery shopping took more time than he wanted to spend. I also took a Walmart run to get the other essentials he would need like a trash can, broom, and can opener. He seemed uncomfortable with all the attention, and Brad, my husband of 23 years, just looked at me as I wracked my brain with the question, “Is there was anything else?

Finally I left my son. He didn’t wave at the window, but he did say a simple “thank you.”  I felt something pulling somewhere inside as we pulled away leaving my first born to start a new chapter in his own adventure. We drove home while I ate chocolate covered almonds. The sweet chocolate and almond crunch helped.

Our little Judah was looking out the window as we drove. “Park! Park!” he called out. It was getting late into the afternoon now, we had groceries in the trunk, but we stopped. We played, and I mean I played tag nad laughed for a little while with my little boy. His laughter rang out like another little boy that had somehow transformed into a man. For the millionth time I was grateful for another opportunity to chase a little one. We ended up in the old gazebo. The sign on the side said it was built in 1906. 

Judah’s eyes were big. “Mom you dance, dad you sing.” So like silly fools Brad made up a song and I danced. Judah thought this was hilarious so he tried again. “Mom you sing and Dad dance this time.” Again we performed as Judah stood in the middle dancing with all of his might. I wished I could gather up that moment forever. His eyes full of mirth, his belly full of laughter, his attention on us, I don’t want to forget another moment. 

Children grow up before you know it.

When we finally got home I walked by his deconstructed room. There was a lone hanger on the floor. My voice echoed against his wall. His old dilapidated chair sat quietly waiting for Isaiah to lounge there playing a video game or reading a comic book. I have to remind myself that he is gone.

Fast forward a few days. We have the carpets cleaned. We moved his kid brother’s stuff into Isaiah’s old room, because it is a little bigger. The echo disappeared as the super hero toys, bedding, and curtains filled the emptiness I feel. But now Judah’s room stood empty.

My daughter Lydia asked me, “Mom, why not make Judah’s old room into an art room? You could write and I could do art? So on Monday morning I started putting the new room together. I had picked up a rug, coffee table, and mirror at a thrift store. The rest of the room was pulled together from other things we had lying around. All day I worked, cleaning, sorting, and organizing. It was the kind of day that I felt the strength to tackle the drawer full of old markers and pens. I unearthed and repurposed baskets and pillows, a shelf, and a comfy chair. By the end of the day I had a new room and a clean house, but I felt exhausted. 

My husband pulled out a pint of my favorite Keto Ice cream. Plugged in the lights we had wrapped around our deck and invited me to sit out among the stars. He massaged my tired shoulders and I cried. I finally let it all out. I worked 12 hours to try to fill the “empty space.”

I can tell myself that my oldest son is fine. He is. I can tell myself that being on his own is a wonderful thing for him. It is. I can tell myself he will not starve or be late for work. I hope. Yet even with all the positive self talk my heart needs a moment to just be. The truth of life and the heart of life run at different speeds.

I am up, it is Five A.M. 

My hope is to capture the precious moments of my life here, at the desk in my new room. I can’t stop time or growing up but I can allow my heart to remember.