I’ve spent the past 10 weeks at my daughter’s home. She lives literally on the other side of the country. One of us would have to move to a different country to be any further away from each other.
She was expecting her third child and having complications that required bed rest. As if being pregnant with two very active little boys running around isn’t complicated enough, her husband was deployed half a world away with his Army Aviation unit. I had the privilege and the flexibility to be able to go and get her through her last 6 weeks of pregnancy, wrangle two loving little guys, be there to meet my granddaughter when she was only moments old, and stay until Mommy was on her feet again. I loved every high and low, every hug and scolding, every laugh and tear of the time I was there.
Then I had to come home.
Re-entry has been incredibly difficult. I am trying my best to happy to be home but I want to be there. Actually what I want is to have all those I love closer. My husband loves me deeply but today I told him, “I’m sorry but I don’t want to be here. I love you but I don’t want to be here.” In the way that is so my Scott, he hugged me and said “I know. I understand”.
When I first got there I said the same words except the here was there.
What is this discontent I feel? Where does this torn feeling come from?
It seems to me it is part of the curse we women were saddled with after the fall of Adam and Eve. You know, that whole “in sorrow you will bring forth your children” thing. I don’t think the sorrow is just the pains of childbirth. I think it is the pain of watching them grow. The pain of the letting go. The pain of the surrendering of your dreams for them to God’s plan… and to their dreams for themselves. It is the pain of loving them in a way that they will never love you because God didn’t design it that way. If our children loved us the same way we loved them there would be no letting go, no surrender, no growing up, moving on and reaching out.
When I left for the airport and felt like dissolving into a puddle of tears my grandsons simply smiled huge smiles and waved floppy little hands at me. I was reminded of the first time I sent my little girl, now their mommy, off to school. She just smiled and waved with an excitement that broke my heart. She raced out into her ever-expanding world and left me behind. And that day when I pulled out of the driveway, even though I was the one leaving, I felt left behind again.
How my heart aches for them. And it will continue to do so until I see those faces again.
Love is bittersweet.
May you find His grace mingled in the bitter and the sweet.