Out my west window a Jack-in-the-beanstalk Sunflower bathes in moonlight. Further west, far beyond sight, my youngest son flies home.
It feels good to reread these words, to let them sink under my skin, to become absorbed by heart and mind. The time apart went fast; it’s only in the everyday that time grows still enough for questions.
My one-day retrofit back into everyday life has made me wonder how Kyle will adjust to being home, after two months in southeast Asia. From short emails received each week, I know Kyle has been thinking of home. Kyle’s initial messages focused more on his new life there; latter ones mixed thoughts, always including a note on missing family and home. At times, Kyle was torn in two, wanting to be there and here too, like when his father’s birthday rolled around mid-way through his Asian assignment.
I expect my youngest son to come home changed. He will return full of stories to share. He will carry some sadness at separating himself from daily contact with friends who became family during his absence. Then there are complicating factors Kyle will face since he will not return to his old way of life. As a new college graduate, Kyle will be sorting out next steps until he sells his first manuscript.
Up in the air, Kyle is coming down to earth — by moving back home with me and his Dad. As I pray Kyle’s landing is not bumpy, I recall Ranier Maria Rilke’s admonition to the young poet to “live the questions now.” Rilke’s advice wears well one hundred years from when he first offered it.
As is my nature, I prayed yesterday with broom and dust cloth and soap and water too, preparing Kyle’s room for his return. Going two steps further, I created space in Kyle’s closet for clothes he’ll bring home; I replaced treasured artwork with posters Kyle brought home from college. With dust removed and fresh bedding on, his room is ready for use. Kyle’s cell phone is charged and his laptop connected. But how pray, do I ready myself?
I don’t kid myself that the long hours spent creating Kyle’s physical space was my part of Kyle’s re-adjustment equation. What will be harder is to grant Kyle emotional space to sort out changes in himself, especially new views on his old home. Can I master the fine art of being available to listen without succumbing to mother-hover? Or not being invited to listen at all?
It will take time and space all around. It will take holding off some of my questions until Kyle frames his own.
an everyday life 
Over on another site we had an interesting discussion of dependence/independence, and the ways in which society at large seems to be encouraging a lingering dependence on the part of kids in their twenties.
There was a good bit of discussion of kids living at home post-college and during first employments, too, and it was extraordinarily interesting. Some had wonderful experiences, while other rated it pretty much with root canals and jury duty. They just waited for it to be over.
Not being a parent, I live out some of the issues with my own parent. But you’re exactly right: time, and space are the necessary elements. Probably not sufficient, but necessary.
You’re going to have a lot to write about in coming months!
Linda,
Remember that television show Walton’s Mountain, where three generations lived together in a big old farm house? I loved that story and sometimes, I wonder, if we haven’t lost something precious in our desire for independence.
Yesterday I learned my father – with his sister and mother — lived at his grandmother’s place for ten years — until his grandmother’s death. My grandfather lived there too, until the divorce or separation came that broke his parents apart. Dad’s sister recalled that their grandmother doted on my father, that she sent him to the store to purchase her cigars. The years my father lived there were the best his childhood offered, and somehow, they prepared him for the lean years ahead.
In that light, I believe the days ahead will be good, especially if we grant one another time and space.
Janell