Things kept in boxes

When Adam was a tiny boy, maybe four or five years old, he wrote a little note and tucked it into a beautiful little trinket box to give to me for Mother’s Day. The box was intended to hold medicine, or maybe rings, but I could never think of anything more precious, more important, to be sheltered in its velvet lined interior than that little note from him.

Right around his birthday, just before Thanksgiving, Adam was given the opportunity to leave everything he’s known, his comfort zone, his schedule and work...and us... to go live in Utah with this best friend, Nathaniel.  The apartment had an opening, and Adam was ready for a change.

The chance was coming up quickly, just days after Christmas. It was so sudden and exciting, but so sad for us who would be left behind without his sweet presence in our home every day. I contemplated taking him to Utah, being there to help with the transition, doing the "mom thing", but it just didn’t seem to fit into the family schedule. It was greedy on my part, really. Certainly he didn’t need me. He was a grown young man; he could handle this on his own. But still, my mama heart ached to watch him step off the metaphoric platform onto that life train.

I chatted with Guy about my feelings one day, my eyes misty. This would be our second boy to leave home, the first having been under not so happy circumstances.  Neither of our boys has chosen to go off to college or on church missions as I imagined they might all the while they grew up, and by them skipping those milestones, those "rites of passage", I was feeling the loss of one of my own.  I had imagined sending my children off into the world one by one, with well stocked luggage and a new set of sheets. I had wanted to fill their cupboards and fridges, buy them shampoo and razors to last a whole season, and load them up with ramen.  But it wasn't just that.  I wanted to spend a few last days together sharing sweet conversation that bubbled with hope and excitement for the future.  And in that time, in a hundred little ways, I wanted to convey solidly one more time, and one more again, that we are here for them.  Always.  No mistake, no loss, no choice, could or will ever change that. 

A few days before Adam was to leave, Guy came upstairs to talk to me.  "I was thinking about everything you said, and I think you should go.  It's not selfish.  You deserve this.  You have given everything to your children and it's not greedy for you to want to have this moment with him.  And since we can't both go, you would be doing it for me, too.”

So I bought a plane ticket that would bring me home, and a few days later we all drove Adam to Nathniel's house an hour away.  I couldn't hold back my tears, I never can lately, as each member of the family said goodbye to Adam in turn.

(Adam... my Salt Water Hippy)

I kissed Guy and said I would see him in a few days, and watched the family leave.  The next morning we finished loading Adam's car, and then we headed out, him with Nathaniel riding shotgun, and me in the van with Nathaniel's family.



Shy Adam had decided that he would rather not bunk with Nathaniel's family at their many stops with extended family, much to my heart's delight.  I had arranged to stay with my Sweet Melissa, and her quiet calm home was just what both Adam and I needed.

Adam's apartment space wouldn't be open for a few days as the old tenant hadn’t yet moved out, so we spent the time gathering needed items from the thrift store and Target, and opening a bank account.  We bought new pants, old dishes, warm gloves and tupperware.  He chose an eclectic but handsome collection of plates and flatware, and I thoroughly enjoyed sticking things into the cart "just because".  He was timid about asking for things; we have always lived on a rather tight budget, and my children are inherantly frugal with their own money and everyone else's, so I just filled the basket with what I know you need starting out in life, plus a few things just for fun. 





I like his style. 

A last movie date

Third floor, apartment #6. 

Best friends since about kindergarten 

Blank slate...

Dropping off some belongings

A bone chilling storm blew through. “It’s like being slapped in the eyeballs,” he said of the bright snow. 

More shopping

Finally, move in day!  He was more than ready. 

Melissa and I had several evenings to get caught up. With Melissa, it’s as though no time has passed at all, but we have actually been apart, except for visits, for 17 years.  She was at Adam’s birth, and became his second mom when I was pregnant with Ellie. Distance has made no difference in our love for each other. 



On our last morning, I took Adam to Waffle Love for breakfast.  The sign on the wall over his shoulder held the message my heart would give him to always carry with him. 

 I loved sitting across from his sweet sleepy-morning face, and couldn’t help but flash on a thousand memories I have of him as I looked into those eyes. 

I could see him, all the years of him, past and future, and the walls of my heart could barely contain it all. They say people near death see their lives pass before their eyes. I guess mamas experience the same thing when near goodbyes, only the life we see is theirs, and it has gone by so fast. 



While shopping, Adam had admired a sweet little wooden box that I later slipped into my cart and secretly purchased. At the end of our meal, I pulled the box out of my purse and placed it in on his hands. Inside, I had placed $24 dollars. A twenty for emergencies, and four dollars for a carton of Tillimouk Vanilla Bean Ice Cream. The boy loves vanilla like I love chocolate. I don’t understand it, but I respect it. 

I had planned to pen a tender mama’s lovenote to place in  the box, but because time doesn’t want me to take myself too seriously, before I knew it, she slipped quietly out of the swinging glass doors into the cold. I had nothing more to put in the box. 

So I took his hands in mine, and placed the box in them. Then I poured out my heart to him. There in the waffle shop, I quietly told him how much joy he brings me, how hopeful I am for his future, how much I trust him, and how gloriously proud I am of the man he is becoming.  I told him how blessed I am that God let me have him in my life, and that when he uses the box, to remember that it’s full of my love for him. 

We drove to Salt Lake, and I tried to get my fill of his voice and laugh. He dropped me at the terminal curb and we shared the kind of hug that has to last for months. I told him I loved him, and then hurried inside so that I wouldn’t fall apart.

But I did. 

******

It’s been six months, but as I sit here in the dentist office waiting room writing And remembering, the tears flow freely. God didn’t give mothers the capacity to unfold all our love for our children - to see and hold and feel- all at once.  

It’s like we have a box inside us that holds it all, and it really is best if we only unpack it a little at a time. 

I guess that’s what a mother’s heart is.