I have to admit I'm not handling this very well. I thought I'd be so happy to have my children move out but now that the first one has actually done it, I'm spending more time crying than celebrating. Maybe it's because it's my son. Unlike my daughter, he never was very demonstrative or communicative. He'd spend days in his room playing video games or talking to his friends, venturing out only to grab a Gatorade and a slice of pizza. If I was lucky, he'd ask me something about Sports Center or throw me a compliment about what I'd made for dinner. If I wasn't, he'd pass me in the hallway without uttering anything more than a couple of grunts. But, every now and then, he'd surprise me. He'd tackle me with a giant hug, reassuring me that I was the greatest mom on earth. Okay. It was usually when he wanted something but I didn't care.
Now that I can no longer find him hanging out in his room, I'm having trouble adapting to our new relationship. Since we work together occasionally, I still get to see him on a regular basis but it's always so impersonal. If he was uncomfortable showing emotion when he was in the privacy of his own home, you can imagine how much he hates it under the glaring eye of non-family members. I'm trying as hard as I can to give him time; to honor his privacy. I remind myself that he still loves me; that we'll get back to a close, connected relationship one of these days.
I just hate the meandering path we're on getting there.
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