Rite of Passage

I just returned from dropping my son, the boy, off at the ferry terminal to go to camp for four days with his fifth grade class.  One of the mom's said this was a rite of passage for her as much as for her daughter.  She is right--watching my youngest child go off is probably more traumatic for me than for him.  Thankfully, it was a bright sunny day and my sunglasses covered my eyes in case they leaked.

This trip marks the beginning of the end of elementary school.  Next year, he is off to middle then high school and then life.  It all happens in baby steps, with the occasional milestone marking the journey.  And today is one of those milestones.

My daughter is independent, brave and loves to travel.  She is unflappable so I was unflappable when I sent her off to camp.  My son loves life, has a deep sense of empathy and feels everything.  His joys are high and his lows are crushing.  He has entered a phase where he imagines the "worst case scenario" so he can prepare himself for anything.  The downside is he spends a fair amount of time looking into the belly of the beast, seeing horrors that are likely to never occur.  Those thoughts must have melted in the sunshine, as he laughed and smiled with his friends on the pier as they were waiting for the ferry.

When I woke up this morning, I was thinking of my friend Alice who lives Chicago.  When my son was a few weeks old, Alice visited us in St. Louis.  She asked to bring her new boyfriend (now husband) along and I said yes.  When they arrived, we went to the Science Center.  At one point during the visit, I was off with my three year old daughter.  Alice and her boyfriend took the boy.  The boyfriend was happy to show off his stroller pushing skills, and the two of them played family with the boy in tow.  We were separated for a half an hour.  While I completely trusted Alice, I felt like a piece of me was missing.  Was it a limb, or a small part of my heart?  I couldn't tell, but I didn't feel complete.  I am sure it was part of the bonding process and overflowing hormones that makes new mothers panic when they leave their offspring in a corner.  Something tells them they must go back and tend to the little one.

I was reminded of that feeling this morning.  A little part of me is at Islandwood today.  A friend of mine said it is like they are going to school, but for four days instead of six hours.  I am glad someone helped me to look at this trip in the "best case scenario" and pulled me out of the belly of the beast. Today is a day to pause and ponder my rite of passage.  I miss him, and I suppose that is a good thing.  I have to learn to share the boy with the world, as I shared him before with Alice and her boyfriend years ago.  Nevertheless,  I am glad it is sunny today so I have an excuse to wear sunglassses.