My heart hurts.

The day I have so long anticipated has finally arrived – and it doesn’t feel so good after all.

When Son #1 was born in the fall 2003, I was thrilled. It taken almost five years from start to finish for him to arrive. He was a miracle of modern reproductive technology. His father and I had spent a lot of money to give him life and even more emotional capital. We counted our blessings that we’d had a happy ending where so many other couples struggled and sometimes failed.

And still, despite all the yearning and trying, I wasn’t prepared for the reality of becoming a mother. There is a big difference between theory and reality. In retrospect I cringe at all the well meaning but misguided advice I gave my friends about parenting before I myself became a parent.

Somewhere about six weeks after my son’s birth it struck me that this is forever. Forever. FOREVER!!! This sweet little creature of my own making would be holding me captive for years to come. My body wasn’t my own. Instead of growing inside of me, he now clung to me at almost every moment. Sleep was scarce, privacy was non-existent – and would remain so for many years to come. What had I done?

I began counting the days to his high school graduation. Some of those days seemed eternal. As cute as he was, it wasn’t always interesting or stimulating spending so many hours in his company. It got more exciting as he began to interact with me. Later he began to talk. Later still we added a little brother and then things got really interesting. But once again I gave over my body to this needy greedy little being – except now I had an older child who also wanted my attention. Still, somewhere along the way, the weight began to lift, and I became more comfortable and confident in my own skin.

Over time, the kids became more fun to be around. They asked thought provoking questions, they saw the world in a way I no longer saw it – pointing out an airplane flying overhead, showing me letters they could read on a sign, and genuinely delighting me with their curiosity and insights. It was a joy to watch them learn to walk, talk and develop their own little personalities. Eventually they needed help with their homework, which I was more than willing provide. We watched movies together and discussed various topics from germs to God over dinner and at bedtime. I was able to share my love of music, literature and travel with them. This was the type of parenting that I had signed up for.

But then the teenage years began. Life changed again and suddenly I was no longer needed or wanted. Instead I had become “The Annoying Parent.” I was shut out from their thoughts and their rooms. Their friends were strangers to me and the other parents non-existent. I was lost in a wasteland of un-neededness. Except when I was still needed in a pinch or was called upon to be the Court of Adult Common Sense.

Now the day I so longed for has finally arrived – Son #1 has graduated from high school and headed off to university. This is how it is supposed to be, but still my heart hurts. My nest is beginning to empty. I suppose that means I have been successful in my job as a mother, but still there is a void in my body, a physical pain brought on by emotional pain – a reverse version of separation anxiety.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt so much if Son #1 were attending a university out of town and I could justify geography as the reason for his absence. As it is, he is attending a university in our city, but has remained resolute in his plan to live in residence. His need to separate from me is greater than the financial savings of living at home under his mother’s jurisdiction.

Ah well, I console myself, I am not the first (nor the last) mother to have pain at the loss of her firstborn. And I still have the second kid at home a while longer. He and I are already discussing how our routine will change without Son #1 – with his strange sleeping habits and eclectic food choices – being at home. Perhaps it will not be so bad after all.

But my heart tells me it will be.

NOTE: An edited version of this essay was published in the September 2021 edition of Neighbours of Windfields magazine. Click here to read it.