June 2025 – Inhale Grace

Mom is recovering. It’s been two weeks since the surgery, and she’s doing really great. She’s been really active. The chemo exhausted her, and now that it’s over, she’s regaining her stamina. My sister was here and they went out to eat and did some shopping. The three of us even went for a short walk near the reservoir in town. Now that school is out for me, we’ve been able to go thrifting and plant flowers and play games; today she’s coming with me to an awards ceremony at Cam’s school.

But yesterday, I left her home all day; her only company was an antisocial young adult who likely spent most of the day in his basement bedroom. I’m glad he was here in case she needed help, but I’m sure he didn’t provide her with any company or entertainment.

The rest of us were at an all-day rugby tournament. We were anticipating temperatures in the 90s and we knew from experience that we’d be out of the house for 10-12 hours. The tournament was out of state, nearly two hours away, so bringing mom for part of the day wasn’t a feasible option. We decided that it would be best for her to stay home.

I feel badly because, in hindsight, I think we made the wrong choice. The tournament was oceanside in Newport, Rhode Island. The scenery was gorgeous, and a continuous ocean breeze made the temperature just perfect. We sat in the shade of our canopy, cheering on our team, eating sandwiches, and chatting with other families. In between games, I walked down to the water and put my feet in the ocean, or strolled down near the pier and watched the sailboats go by. It was an absolutely beautiful day. On the way home, we stopped for dinner at a pub we like, and it was great not to have to worry about cooking or cleanup.

What I did worry about was Mom. She mostly watched YouTube all day. She watered the plants and put in a load of laundry (which she isn’t supposed to be doing). She says she was fine, but it doesn’t help me feel less guilty about having such a lovely day while she was home watching TV.

That’s actually been one of the hardest parts about having her here. She doesn’t need much physical care, and she tries hard to be helpful. She does the dishes and cooks and takes care of the dogs… but we all go off to work and school each morning, so she’s spent most of her days alone with our aging black lab. They’re best buddies now, but I imagine they’re both a bit bored most of the time.

When Mom came to stay with us, I was worried about a bunch of potential conflicts. I was afraid that she’d judge my parenting and offer unsolicited advice. I was afraid that she’d be too sick or weak to use the stairs and we’d have to set up a hospital bed in the living room. I was afraid that she’d need more care than I could provide while working full time. I was afraid I might have to take a leave from my job. I was afraid she wouldn’t respond to treatment and the cancer would get worse.

Thank God, all of those worries were unfounded. I’m so grateful for that.

What’s been hardest is being her only friend here. What’s been hardest is balancing a full-time teaching job and full-time parenting and volunteer work against also being Mom’s best source of entertainment. She hasn’t been driving. So if she wants to go somewhere, I have to bring her. If she wants to play a game, it’s usually with me. If she wants to plant herbs or go for a walk or go out for ice cream, that becomes my agenda. She tries not to be needy, but I feel guilt every time I tell her I can’t.

Sometimes, even her helping adds to my to-do list. I have a tendency to let the recycling pile up in the corner of the dining room until I have the energy or the motivation or the time to take care of it. Mom will sort it and bag it up, but she can’t bring it outside to where it belongs. She leaves the bags for me to take care of, so the thing that I’ve purposely been putting off has to be done now, because she’s started it and she needs me to finish it.

All that to say that having Mom here has been hard in a different way than I anticipated. The beginning of my summer vacation has definitely helped. I have more time to give her, and I can focus a little more on fun things instead of the daily grind. Soon, she’ll move into an AirBnb with her husband and her dogs. They’ll have their own space while she’s getting daily radiation treatment. I’m looking forward to being able to meet up with her for lunch, or get together for a game of scrabble, or take a drive to Newport for a visit that doesn’t involve 8 hours of rugby.

Every once in a while, Mom gets teary. She’ll hug me and say, “Thank you for saving my life.” It feels extreme, but in the same breath, we brought her here for world-class medical treatment. And it worked. She’s got a new lease on life, and she’s thrilled to be on the mend. She’s so excited to have her hair growing back, and her energy rebounding. She’s thrilled to be with her husband and her dogs in her own space. She’s thrilled to explore New England this summer, and I’m looking forward to doing it with her.

Today is my third day of summer vacation. Sadly, my internal alarm doesn’t turn off as easily as the one on my phone, so I was awake as the kids got ready to leave for work and school.

The older one works full time but lives at home. Each morning, he packs his lunch and brushes his teeth and heads out the door at 7am. He graduated a year ago, and it still sometimes takes me by surprise when I expect him to have ‘the day off of school’ and he leaves for his actual job.

The youngest leaves at a similar time to walk to the bus stop. But last week, he got his driver’s license. So today, he grabbed the keys off the hook before he walked out the door, and my heart skipped a beat.

My baby. Driving. Damn.

I’ve been through this enough times to be able to predict how it goes. At first, there’s a queasy feeling each time they drive away. A pervasive thought. Something bad is going to happen. I convince myself that it’s some sort of premonition and panic. It’s not. It’s just garden variety anxiety. It’s just part of letting go.

We now have five adult children out in the world driving cars. Before each and every road test, I thought “This kid is not ready.” And every kid passed on the first try.

The oldest just recently got engaged. ENGAGED. To be MARRIED. And the youngest is operating a motor vehicle without supervision. It’s exciting and terrifying. It’s beautiful and awful.

I know that the queasy feeling eventually subsides. It’s replaced by a wary acceptance and mild judgement because I still think they’re all terrible drivers. Even the one who’s been driving for a decade. Maybe especially that one.

Eventually, each phase becomes old news. The specific, intense worries are replaced by a low hum of concern simply because they’re out in the world, existing, without you.

My youngest has a newfound freedom. And so do I. All of a sudden, my evenings have freed up. He drives himself to practice or to rehearsal or to the gym. I have wide open hours.

Every time this shift happened before, there was another kid waiting in the wings. And as the older ones moved on, I was reminded to enjoy this time with the youngest. I knew I was going to miss those deep conversations in the car. I knew I was going to drive him to school one day, not knowing it would be the last time. I knew I was going to feel ill the first time he drove away on his own. I knew all of it.

And knowing didn’t even help. Because I’m so freaking sad that this phase is over. I’m trying to be positive. I’m trying to be excited for him and for me. But today, I’m just grieving.

I didn’t expect this sadness. I thought I was used to the feeling of kids leaving the nest. But he’s the youngest. Every other kid drove away, and I held on to the idea that it wasn’t really over. I could do it better with the youngest. I would appreciate it more. I would savor the moments. I tried. I really did. And it ended anyway. What kind of idiot am I to be surprised by that?

In the time it’s taken me to write this, I know he’s made it safely to school. I have a vague awareness that everyone is where they need to be. It’s time for me to catch up. It’s time to get off this couch and shower. I have an appointment for a mani/pedi and a thrift store date with my mom.

If these kids can be out in the world being humans all on their own, then I can, too. I just have to remember how.