Growing Grown-Ups

If there is one thing that is exceptionally hard about the middle, it’s realizing that your children are growing up. I don’t mean in the sense that they are getting older and will one day leave you or that they don’t need you for every single aspect of sustaining their little lives—although those are real things. I’m talking about the fact that they are entering the adult world. A world that is often filled with senseless tragedy and unspeakable hardships—a world from which you can no longer shield them.

I stopped watching the news when my oldest child was old enough to understand it. I did this not because I didn’t have the time or inclination to watch it—I was a morning show lover—I did it because the reality of what was on the screen was too much for his little brain and heart to understand. I did it because he wasn’t ready for what is sometimes the brutal reality of the world at age three. I did it because I knew I wouldn’t be able to answer or explain away all of the many questions that would naturally arise. And, even if I could, it was more than he should handle at that age. Thankfully, small children take naps and DVR is a real thing, so I could catch up on all that I missed. But, truthfully, I was surprised to learn I didn’t really miss it. I eventually weened down to a fabulous news feed on my phone where I could delve into the latest in international headlines or read about what people wore to the latest award show—don’t judge me—pop culture is still culture.

But now, that little person I was trying to shield from all of the absurdity that sometimes takes place in the world is now a full-fledged teenager. I have to let him see behind the curtain. He’s old enough. He’s emotionally mature enough. So, why do I feel like I’m stripping him of his innocence one tragic event at a time?

Unfortunately, there have been a few recent tragedies to take place in our small community. I knew I had to talk to my son about these. There is no greater information network than a group of seventh graders on a group text. I knew he would find out about what happened—the days of omitting information or changing the channel are over. Instead, I needed to talk to him about what happened honestly and answer his questions, honestly.

This was harder than I anticipated. It was harder because he asked really hard questions “What will these kids do now that their mother is gone?” or “How will this family recover?” These were hard  because I could see my son empathizing. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head and I knew he was doing what most of us do in these situations—trying to imagine what it is like for the people affected by tragedy. Don’t get me wrong, I am so thrilled and proud that he has an empathetic heart. If I do nothing else as a mother, raising a good human is more than enough for me. But, it’s hard to watch your child realize that life is not fair, that sometimes tragedy strikes and you just have to suffer through it.

I couldn’t explain any of it away. I had to give him all of the miserable answers. I had to confirm the uncertainty and frailty of life. I had to affirm that sometimes horribly, bad things happen for no good reason. He now has full confirmation that I cannot fix everything nor can I protect him from anything. He’s out there in an adult world.

The adult world can stink. Even those of us who have been doing life in it for twenty plus years don’t get it. We’re just as shocked and heartbroken and confused as these little newbies entering into it. So, what are we to do as moms? As fixers and protectors?

I wish I had a good answer for you. I’ll give you all that I’ve come up with thus far. I told this baby of mine (because I don’t care how old these people get, I will always see them in their onesies with faux sock/shoes on) that sometimes tragedy strikes. The truth is, it strikes much more often than any of us would like—because more than once is too much. Tragedy often shows us the worst parts of being human, but it also shows us the miraculously wonderful side of humanity too. It shows us that for the most part, people are good. People want to help and they want to heal. The pain is real and awful for all of those affected by tragedy, but the goodness is real too. The empathy that we feel causes us to reach out to those suffering. The empathy reminds us not take anyone we love for granted. It makes us grateful for what we have, but more importantly, it makes us grateful that we can help.

I can’t protect this young adult of mine. I wish that I could. I can remind him that the answer to darkness is always light. I can assure him that he will never go wrong helping someone else. I can tell him that no matter what the question; the answer is always more LOVE.  I can tell him with certainty that although life is uncertain, love is not. Love grows. Love expands. Love multiplies. I can hope and pray that no matter what comes his way through his adult life that he knows love and loves others. And, I can love him a little harder on the hard to explain days.