The flowering trees this spring have been spectacular in their florescence. Pink is the color of the moment, lush and brilliant, soft and inviting, jubilantly announcing the end of winter, the arrival of spring. The contrast of the coral petals against the viridescent leaves, the explosion of color against a sky that only a few weeks ago was a grayish white is reviving, enough to wake us all from the drudgery of a long, cold, rainy winter. The dogwoods, particularly the Cherokee Brave, whose flowers emerge as a deep pinky red and as the blossoms open up, soak in the sun and rain and fresh spring air, the red fades into a salmon blush. The magnolia, with her silky, luxurious pink center that melts into brilliant white petals. The cherry tree, with its doubled pink blossoms was the first to gingerly urge the emergence of spring, reminding us of color and warmth and light once again. The crabapple, who will later litter our sidewalks and yards with those hard, inedible green fruits, is in her glory right now, bursting out with five-petaled blossoms that begin as cupped flowers, much like tulips, and flatten into softly, rounded stars. The lilac, who stands apart from the other flowering trees and bushes of mid May with her deeply regal purple to pastel lavender blooms and that scent, the quintessential fragrance of spring. It is intoxicating to walk around my little city right now. The visual symphony demanding a pause, an insistence to be here, in this moment right now.
We have modeled our rituals and traditions around this seasonal rebirth. This is the time to honor our young adults through graduations and awards, proms and performances, acceptances and commitments. The beautiful photos flooding my social media feeds of your teenagers in a rainbow of silky, shiny, shimmery, sparkley, radiant dresses and suits and inventive combinations of both are a human version of blossoming trees. These humans, so recently babies held and rocked in our arms; toddlers learning to stand and walk and run; preschoolers finishing their year with a beloved teacher not yet ashamed to cry when thinking about leaving this nurturing space; elementary school kiddos trying on what it means to be a friend, a soccer player, an actor, a musician, a comic, a serious student; middle schoolers wondering what the hell is happening to their bodies, their emotions, their voices, just trying to find some purchase in the soil of their lives. All of those stages seem to flash in a mama’s eyes as she sees her child, now so clearly a young adult, standing awkwardly or perhaps confidently next to a date or a group of friends, all spiffed up and shiny. Playing at adulthood to gain the confidence to keep stepping more fully into this space.
This time last year, my heart was undergoing so many pulls, back and forth between extremes (with the added booster of perimenopausal emotional intensity, of course!). The intense pride and delight in this child who had reached a milestone, a marker of passage into adulthood. Hearing his name called, accomplishments listed, seeing his broad, wide smile of achievement spread across his face was heart bursting. I held these moments with such joy and revelry, excitement and elation. It sounds so hyperbolic, I know, but truly, words fail to capture these moments, to put into words what you feel when you see your child transitioning in this moment into an adult version of themselves.
And then, sometimes even in that same instant, I’d realize that this meant he was leaving. That though the transition had been over 18 years, that I’d gone from holding him close to me for most of his waking hours, to his little hand holding tight to my index fingers as he learned to balance and steady himself on his feet, to waving goodbye as he got on the bus and went off to school, to dropping him off at the airport to board a plan and head off across an ocean with a school trip, I was not ready to let this boy, this young man go.
How is it possible that these babies grow up so very fast?
My wise mentor told me in the midst of one of my tearful monologues about letting go of this beautiful boy, my heart, that it was an intense but short-lived pain. That the hollow carved out by his absence would soon be filled in with the sweetness of a new relationship that evolved through the distance and independence of choice. If I didn’t know that she was so often right, I don’t know that I would have believed her. But you have read about the emergence of this relationship, watched it develop with me in this space.
Many of my friends are entering this phase of mothering. Senior events are fast approaching. Many “lasts” have already happened—the last day of classes, the last AP exams, the last college applications long ago turned in, the college acceptances already rolled in, and for most, the college commitment already made. Ahead are awards and prom and senior outings and graduation practice. And graduation. I hope that you have a bluebird sky without the dramatic downpour that in some ways, began this writing for me. I hope you have the moment of exhale, the realization that you all made it here, that whatever the future holds, this chapter has finished. Life will continue to unfold with a guaranteed offering of heartache and heart bursting, jubilant celebration and heavy disappointment, glittering moments of joy and sharp pierces of pain. But for now, for today, stop and take in the glorious blossoming of these young people, the burst of color and flower with no thought for the eventual fall of the soft petals, the inevitable loss of leaf and bloom. Just an exuberant entrance into the world, a reminder of spring and all that is beautiful and right.
I don’t know if the trees are blossoming more rigorously; if the pinks are brighter, deeper, more brilliant than years past; if the timing of the leafing out and the flowering was just right this year. Or if my efforts to slow down, to weed out what was choking my ability to be, provided me with more space to stop and notice the beauty all around me. Perhaps it is the passage of a year in which my boys kept growing older and each in his own way, took more steps away from me and toward their own lives. Perhaps it is knowing that Z moved away and succeeded in living his life, making his own choices, and that one of those choices was to bring me closer in than he had before.
Perhaps it is the knowledge, that as e.e. cummings said 75 years ago, i carry your heart with me…i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;)
I will continue to delight in this blossoming, this rebirth, this renewal of life. And I know that my boys will continue their progress toward adulthood. My role in their lives will change and shift and lessen as those paths become fuller and more clearly defined, but I will always carry them in my heart.
[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
~e.e. cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
All photos were taken by the exceptional Dana Giuliana, unless otherwise noted.
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