A lot of parents are getting ready to send their child off to college. For some parents and children, this may be the first time away from each other for long periods of time. Excitement is in the air and a bit of anxiety as reality begins to set in. Believe me, I understand! Here’s one of my journal entries when we were preparing to send our son off to college. Be encouraged to cherish time spent!
Dear Diary,
Standing at the kitchen sink washing a few dishes that had piled up from the previous meals, I could hear the unified buzzing of the bees that frequented the pea blossoms that had finally shoot on the pea trees right outside the kitchen window. The sun was shining brightly, and I could feel the warm, humid air from the outside touching my face. It was not a task that I had done very often over the past few years since I had bestowed that responsibility to my teenage son as his way of ‘contributing’ to household chores. A task that he had started out doing by hand and then we got a dishwasher, which was mostly my idea since I loathe the thought of doing dishes. It was kind of a treat to myself, a birthday present. But now the dishwasher was broken and so back to handwashing the dishes we went.
Like riding a bike, you never really forget how to wash the dishes by hand, although you may rather not care to. I stood looking out at the lush greenery and thinking about the summer heat. I stood with dish cloth and sudsy water wrapped around my fingers, my hand moving in a circular motion as I had been taught. I could feel the jagged chips on the edges of the plates, mostly at the bottom, although I was not looking. I had more chipped plates than undamaged ones, a thought that would normally upset me. I smiled slightly as my hands ran across the uneven surfaces and thought about the many times I fussed with my son about hitting the plates to the outside of the dishwasher or to the faucet of the sink while unloading or washing them, which usually resulted in chips or cracks.
This day was different! My son was preparing for university and all I could think about was how quickly the time flew by. I could hardly keep myself from bawling my eyes out most days at the thought of him being away from me. I thought about every milestone. His first words. His first steps. His first day of pre-school, then junior high and senior high school. My mind quickly teleported to the future and the thought of what could be, both good and bad, came flooding in. I fought with myself to keep the thoughts positive and think the best, a bit of a stretch for an over-thinker. I thought about college graduation, his first ‘real’ job, his wedding day and family vacations which I had already decided we would all do together each year. I thought about his first child and even his first heartbreak.
Robotically I moved each dish from wash to rinse to drying rack until I felt the empty bottom of the sink. All of the dishes were done! I looked over to the drying rack at all the chipped plates, from large to small and suddenly a sense of sadness and pure joy washed over me at the same time. Sadness because I had wasted so much time fussing about the cracked and chipped plates and instructing my son again and again to be careful, but soon, he would be leaving us to blaze his own trail.
The joy came in the realization that I still had time, even if only this moment, to turn that fussing into gratitude. I was grateful that even when he complained, he still did the dishes each night. I was grateful for his kisses before bed each night and the quirky way he held his fork when he ate. I was grateful for all of his achievements and the amazing young man he had grown to be. I was grateful that God saw it fit to bless me with a son, this son. As I stood there running my fingers across each chip at the back of just about each plate, I was grateful for each one of them because they all reminded me of him in the fondest way!
So, I reminded myself, “Don’t sweat the small things!” Things can be replaced but people and the memories we choose to make with them cannot. The things that we make mountains out of will someday, sooner than you think, become mole hills in light of the reality you face. My reality in that moment was that my baby boy was on his way into a world already in turmoil. Had I instilled the right morals, invested enough time, kissed and held him enough? I do know I spent too much time, even if it was only a few minutes, fussing about the chipped plates.