An ache swelled in his heart he had not known before. For many winters past, he’d found his way from childhood to manhood in this wooded area he called his home. There had been a time not long ago that he welcomed the chance to leave, but the spirits unseen would have their own say. The tasks that had been put before him were not to be ignored, and like the acorn that strained against its shell to become the mighty oak, he’d found the strength to become the warrior his mother had wished him to be.
Across the field, the weathered trees that interrupted the horizon swayed in obedience to the insistent breeze, causing a shudder to pass atop his shoulders. The forest and the plains had not changed overmuch, and almost seemed to have stilled its heart, but to his astute senses, this place, and the very air that surrounded it, he knew was not the same.
He allowed the breath in his chest to escape and he put his feet in motion. It was time. Time to let go of all that he knew. There was no one left, no one for him to protect. The accomplishment was bitter in his mouth, for as he had watched them leave one by one, a piece of him had also gone. Oh, he would have those pieces back if only he could, but to ask would merely show a weakness he felt compelled to hide. No, at 20 summers he’d shown his worth and earned the respect of the people who gave it. There would be no going back.
A single breath caught against his ribs and he focused, as he’d done so many times before, upon his mother’s everlasting glow that surrounded him always, the constant he often forgot to remember.
His footsteps faltered as he turned to look back once more. No one needed him. No one called his name.
Yes. The time had come.
He followed the path he’d walked on with his brother not so long ago, holding his head high, keeping his eyes alert. He crossed the bridge to where the portal stood, his footsteps still crying out for the memories to follow.
From beyond the shimmering portal, his mother’s welcoming arms opened to him, and his little brother smiled with pride. Without looking back, and with his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword, he bit down on the memories, and left the homeland to begin the journey of an adventurous new life.
She ran the stone one last time along the edge of her sword, restoring its former sharpened perfection. It’d been a single year’s passing since it had been used. From such a distance it was of little use to her, hence the blade had become blunted. In the mountains that she left, there had been intrusions, events that had come to pass that were far from her control. The will that she could not bend darkened the forest even more than she thought possible. Her sons, who stayed behind, had seen a side of human nature that no child should ever see. It was time to stop the madness. Her youngest son, in particular, needed protection that she could not provide from that distance.
She stood, testing the strength in her arm. That, too, had become soft, but the memory of how to rule her kingdom was etched in her fibers, ready to be summoned at will. And now that time had come. He was coming home.
~ ~ ~ ~
Had it only been one year? He scrubbed his hand over his face. So much had happened in that time, most of which he’d rather forget. They’d be safe, she told them, until she prepared the way and summoned them, but no sooner had she left, than the shadow awoke. Without his mother’s protective energy, the darkness filled the crevices of the forest, threatening to steal his soul. The landscape had changed in a few short weeks after she had left. No longer were there stable paths lined with hope and promises of a beautiful tomorrow. The footing had become unpredictable, with no clear vision of what the next moment might hold.
If it were not for the quiet hum of her lingering energy pulsating beneath his feet, he would have fallen many moons ago. Oftentimes he would press his cheek to the ground and weep, struggling to drink in the light that she had left behind.
The shadow had raised its head time and time again, lashing out at him, crying out for her. Their savior, their strength. So far away.
The villagers converged and surrounded him, took him away, and offered protection when she could not. Though kind and generous, ‘twas not enough. He missed the connection, however frayed and blackened the threads were, for it was all he knew. Little by little he found his way back to the forest edge. But nothing had changed. The never-ending pulsating force still beat strong. Too many nights he sat, watching from afar as the shadow sat alone, tipping his head back, letting loose a soul-crushing howl, so full of sorrow, pain, and loneliness.
“It is not what we once knew,” his older brother said one night.
He clung to his brother, his only ally in the unrecognizable terrain. Though not much older, he still exuded stability and comfort.
“The forest is deceiving,” he continued to say. “The shadow hides well within the darkness. No, little brother. It is beyond repair now, and I would have you stay with me.”
So his brother led him away that very night.
“I miss her,” he said, blinking back the pain in his heart.
“As do I, but we will be as one, until we unite with her again.”
Displaced from the home they knew, they ventured out, and took to honing their skills of survival. Left to fend for themselves, their minds and shoulders broadened with seeking the truth and wielding their swords. No longer thin and timid, together they became a force to behold.
At long last, the summoning arrived. Settled now into his routine, he looked around. Could he truly leave everything and everyone behind? It had become a place he so desperately wished to escape, yet so desperately wanted to remain. He was strong now. He had proved that to himself. He could stay. But there was no choice. She had made that decision for him.
With heavy feet and saddened hearts, they walked together to the portal that would take him home.
“You’ve always been there for me,” he said.
“And will always be there for you.”
They clasped forearms and stood awkwardly for a few moments before pulling each other into an embrace.
“You behave yourself, little brother. Do not give her trouble.”
He swiped his sleeve across his eyes. “When will you join us?”
“As soon as I can,” his brother said, ruffling his hair. “I promise.”
He nodded. A shuddering breath and quivering lip betrayed his confidence.
“Go. She is waiting.”
Grasping the hilt of his sword, he was ready to face the adventure before him. There he would learn of different clans, different languages, a new way of life, completely leaving behind all that he has known.
The portal shimmered before him. His mother, the pillar in his life, stood on the other side, her image steadfast through the wavering fabric of worlds. A smile that promised a different path for him encouraged him onward. A smile that reminded him of her comfort, her strength, and that he would not be fighting battles alone.
Her arms extended into a welcoming gesture, beckoning him to join her. His shoulders squared in response, for though he was eager to see her, he was too old, too changed for such emotional release. Taking one step forward, he stoically reined in the feelings that unexpectedly bubbled to the surface. A sense of urgency swirled in his legs and feet and the corners of his mouth lifted against his will. The burden of the past, the nights of burning tears melted away into a lightness he had not known since he was a child.
He turned to his brother and removed his scabbard from his waist. “I won’t need this anymore,” he said, handing his sword to his brother. “I’m going home.”
He stepped through the portal and quickened his footsteps until he found himself surrounded by his mother’s arms.
She looked to the portal and held out her hand, a question forming on her lips.
Her oldest smiled through simmering eyes and shook his head.
“Soon, Mama. Soon.”
I never thought it would happen to me, but there it was. I had known about it for six months, but assumed I could right the sails and keep the boat afloat. I got caught up in what many families are facing: The end to a well-paying, long-term job. During those six months, like a cornered animal, I got a tad cranky. I felt threatened. After 18 years of working in my bunny slippers, with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine in hand, I had a wake up call. One I didn’t want to answer.
I was about to be thrown out of my comfort zone and into the world of *gulp* job hunting.
Which wasn’t easy. Especially in this small town where professional jobs are at a minimum and the lines are long for the rest of the jobs that open up. Small towns are awesome. Small towns create a sense of belonging. I love knowing everyone at the bank or the grocery store. I love the fact that one of our busiest streets really isn’t so busy after all.
But none of that matters when the well runs dry, when I’m faced with decisions, when I feel like a failure. A new plan was needed fast. The more I thought about it, the more I looked at the circumstances, the choice was clear. I needed to look outside of this town.
If I were to be honest, I’d been feeling as if my wheels were spinning and that I forgot who I was – still. I’d been talking about a finding new direction for awhile, but since I was swimming in my comfort zone, I had no reason to get out of the pool. Well, guess what. Losing my job was the kick in the ass that I needed to move forward.
What I hadn’t counted on, though, was that I would be going at this alone. The boys and I had been a tight unit and I assumed we’d move together. But ‘twas not to be. They wanted to stay with their father in Idaho for their own reasons. Reasons I understood, but still I felt I failed on many levels. Was I that bad of a mother that they didn’t want to be with me? Shouldn’t I sacrifice a few more years and stay here just in case they needed me? How much would this hurt them in the long run?
Infused with guilt, I spoke with my uncle who reminded me that, in the face of knowing we would miss each other, would miss the routine we’ve developed over the years, both boys made a very deliberate decision. Sure, they could have taken the easy way out and followed me, looking to me to handle things, but I’ve taught them to be free thinkers and to make choices based on what they felt was best for them. It had always been my intention to pass at least one morsal of something to them, and here I had my proof.
Feeling somewhat better, I chose to practice what I preach: Do something that is best for me. After putting my needs on hold for 25 years, now is my chance to follow opportunities that will further my choice of career. Opportunities I cannot find here in North Idaho.
I want to show my boys a side of me they haven’t yet seen before – the woman who waited patiently behind the mother. I want my sons to see me as a healthy and successful person, not the overbearing, overprotective mama bear who pushed them to realize heights I knew they were capable of, all while I was feeling frustrated because I wasn’t reaching my own potential. I want to be the best person I can be, to show them that my happiness is as important as theirs. My reasons for doing this, as painful as the process might be, will serve them as well as me.
And the timing is right. My job had allowed me to work from home for the last 18 years and over those almost two decades I’ve seen my oldest through to graduation and my youngest get through middle school. I’ve taught them as many life lessons as I have experienced myself, taught them social graces, and how to be kind to others. Now the rest is up to them.
Yes, I’ll definitely miss the little things, the daily routine, the chance to hug them when they’re feeling sad or happy, but through Skype, texting, phone calls, and Facebook, I’ll still be able to nag – I mean, guide – them through the trials and successes and celebrations big and small. The moments we share will be sweeter, the visits will be anticipated events.
The silver lining to all of this is that I will have the opportunity to discover who I am and what I need to feel whole, because when we become mothers and wives, so many of us lose sight of ourselves. It’s a continuous process, one I started two years ago. I have a very specific plan A, with no plan B, so there won’t be any falling back. Only forward movement. By expanding my horizons outside of this town, I will be able to bring more of the world to the boys. It’s the put-on-the-oxygen-mask-first-before-putting-it-on-the-children mentality.
My uncle also told me, “Go ahead and feel guilty if you must, but it would be a mistake not to try.”
So try, I will.
This song, The Reason, by Hoobastank, is for you, boys. You are my reason. I love you.
The life I give my boys is an outside-of-the-box kind of normal. Our house is lovingly referred to as “The Pit Stop” as we are rarely there and when we are, it’s to sleep and grab a shower and perhaps a few Z’s before we head out the door again. My erratic work and writing hours revolve around the boys’ equally erratic hours, shaped by their activities and sports. And the time that we actually spend at home, we spend together, yet apart. We have vastly different interests and temperments – I’m a hummingbird on speed, my oldest a little faster than a snail, and my youngest, somewhere in between.
I love reading, writing, exercising, yardwork…my boys don’t.
They adore Skyrim and Zelda…I don’t.
My oldest enjoys making decadent desserts. My youngest enjoys eating decadent desserts…I don’t, on either count.
My oldest and I love watching movies…my youngest doesn’t.
My youngest and I love hiking…my oldest doesn’t.
That being said, I’ve tried to reverse things a bit and make it “normal,” but failed miserably every time, ignoring the fact that when I’d tried to do what other mothers and fathers did with their family lives, it felt wrong for me, felt wrong for us.
I’ve pushed the boys on eating habits, on school, teen-tude behavior, and all I got was a big shove back. Not fun for either party involved.
Although rules and regulations are set in place, I gave up on trying to “be normal.” And it was freeing, because I didn’t have to pretend anymore. But skipping not too far behind that freedom was its annoying friend – guilt. I thought I had it all figured out when I wrote the Girl Power post, but I still found myself looking at all of my friends, wondering if I was off base. Shouldn’t I be playing board games or something?
I realized that trying to do what is “right”, for me anyway, is a lot like being a kite. Flying freely, yet anchored by the shoulds of the string, I’d feel “normal” and “accepted.”
But when the kite string is released, the more visible my free falling or “different” behavior is. While it’s kind of cool to do the rebel yell thing, there is a moment of ahh…damn…should I really be doing this?
I’ve come to the conclusion certain things aren’t going to happen – it just doesn’t work for us, no matter how hard I try. So one day after sweeping up the pieces of my latest attempts, I sat the boys down and said, “Listen. There is no ‘normal’ here. Our routine is just what happens as the day unfolds. We may not bond over playing catch, but we can bond while we do the Warrior Dash. I may not bake at Christmas time, but I’ll share a box of Oreo cookies with you. I’ll even be there for you if you want a tattoo. You know how completely unorthodox I am…”
My oldest had stopped me and said, “We know, Mom. We like you that way.”
*Happy dance* They know I love them, and that is the glue that keeps us together. But then again, it could have been the Double Stuff Oreo cookies…
It’s been pretty intense around here, with all the soul cleansing and growth, the changes inside and out. Like finding seashells along the shifting tides, I was too wrapped up in my discoveries to see the signs.
Still, I knew something was off. I felt the shift in his manner, his voice, and the way he looked (or rather the way he didn’t look) at me. The realization hit me like a 2 x 4 yesterday morning and gave me a raging headache. I couldn’t let this sit and stew. I had to do damage control – and fast.
I woke up this morning and felt really, really awful. Sick, but not physically. It was more like my heart and soul had collapsed. I didn’t have it in me to get out of bed, and for me, that’s pretty bad.
I panicked because I realized I had forgotten something very, very important. What made this oversight even worse, was that I couldn’t remember how long ago that I had begun to forget.
Sometime between the ages of 15 and 16, I would guess. Maybe even before then. Perhaps it was it when you started with the teen-tude or buried yourself under texting and Facebook. Maybe it was when you started rolling your eyes or put your emotions on permanent lockdown when I went off on my “informative lectures.”
My love started to fall under the guise of teaching you the “rights” and “wrongs” of life and somehow I made you feel less than the perfect person you are. You did things your way, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more from you, but I didn’t take into account that you had your own issues to process – issues you came into this world with, along with the normal, everyday teenager stuff.
The only difference between the issues you and I are processing is that yours are new and mine are old. Yeah. Mine go waaaay back, but I’ve been flinging them at you when something set me off, and I didn’t realize that until just now. I reacted with anger when you showed me lack of respect. Feelings of worthlessness screamed when you ignored me when I talked. I felt inadequate when, even though I gave you 200%, you complained about it and still wanted more. That’s all recycled stuff from a different decade, bleeding from my past into your present.
Whether intentional or not, I had ignored the distinct sound of disconnection when you tuned me out. I fought hard to pull you close when you fought hard to push me away.
During that battle for control, I believe that is when I forgot to show you that I love you. As a writer, I should know this one. I could tell you I love you until I’m blue in the face, but it won’t have the same impact unless I put action in place of those words. When you stand four inches taller than me, I see the man you are becoming, but forget that you still respond better to hugs than to words.
Today you take your pretest in Tang Soo Do, and after that you are only a few months away from your black belt. You could never have gotten this far had you not been determined, focused, and talented. You are a force to be reckoned with, and I couldn’t be prouder of you.
So now I will start once again to build the bridge between us. I’ll teach my lessons through examples and laugh a heck of a lot more. I’ll be sure to draw the line between my issues and yours. I’ll untie the cord around your waist and give you room to stretch your wings. Not that this gives you a carte blanche to do whatever you want, but this will allow you express yourself and be who you need to be without my issues holding you down.
I hope that by letting you go, you’ll find your way back to me.
And I promise…I’ll remember to never forget.
Your biggest fan,