Dear Helen,
Diane and I are chillin’ here in Boothbay Harbor. We’re sleeping late, eating out and dreading our return trip home. As we crested Eastern Ave., about to descend the hill to Hannaford’s grocery store, I thought I’d give you a call and talk about Matt going off to college. Then I felt a quick hollow beat in my chest. All those years, all those calls, and especially all those shared stories. Not gone, but over. Shortly after I cut off the end of my finger I reached for the zipper on my jacket but missed. It was no longer there to grab – in the old way – between thumb and forefinger.
Well, you’re not here to grab, in the old way, either. I guess from now on our conversations will be one way. Diane doesn’t frown on this, she tells me I’m incorporating your spirit within mine. I think of it as taking the good parts of you and sprinkling them around in my head.
Mostly what I have in my head right now is the cheerleader. At some point in my life you gave up being a judgmental mother and became my reinforcer. I’m not really sure when that happened, but it might have been when your brother died, and you called me for support.
If you were still around, I would have told you about missing Matt. As Diane and I headed out of Acton, we stopped by Hil K’s house to give her the CD version of a movie I’d made. Hil K is Hil K because there is a Hil B. You’ve seen her picture in the last two proms and on that sophomore camping trip to Ed’s place.
Hil came to the door dressed in a black t-shirt speckled with yellow paint. When she leaves she’s handing her newly spiffed-up room over to her sister. Hil and I had sort of talked before about change, this transition from high school to college, and I’d joked about wanting all of Matt’s friends to get married and settle down. Frozen in amber at eighteen, if you will.
Hil described how hard it was to no longer have Debbie a quick drive away, and then she asked me, “Will you miss Matt?†I said, no, but that I already missed Debbie. A funny variation of the answer I’ve been reciting for months. Usually I frame it as, â€I’m so happy for Matt that I’m not feeling the loss.â€
However, Hil’s asking kicked the loss door open. Today I’m dreading Matt’s leaving, and I thought I’d ask you for advice. You have to admit, our family handled leaving in an odd way. I remember when I left for college. Brian drove me to IU’s campus, opened the car door and said, “Goodbye.†I remember when I hitchhiked around the country in 1969. I walked out of our side door to the highway in front of our house, and waved, “Goodbye.†I had imagined my father’s transitions were similar but without the fanfare.
But, mom, I know you must have had feelings though you didn’t share them. So that’s why I’m asking now, what do I do with those same feelings? The ones you sat on. The one’s I kept hidden until Hil came to the door.
adam
Will this come as any surprise to Matt, and if so, will he mind such insights arriving in public and via the blog … ? A comment I’d normally make in an emailed aside to Mike, but as it’s on a topic broached several times at the recent Gilsum convocation, and as Mike chose public in the first place, why not … ?
That being said, a lovely piece of writing, and whether you continue to share such with us, I do hope you keep them up for yourself. I so wish Helen could reply, tell us what it was like when that car door that slammed on Brian at IU slammed on her at Bellemeade as you were leaving, Mike. You were Matt then, and somehow I can picture Matt now driving off to Temple with naught but an affably aloof, “See ya!”.
I suppose it’s too much to hope that Mack might read or hear of this and give some attempt to represent HO, even proxy-indirectly?
Love the title, but I suspect it’s an open letter to at least someone else, and likely half-a-dozen or more someone else’s. Top notch. Thanks.
michael
Nothing surprises Matthew anymore.
And posting it? I don’t lead so much as follow. If Matt and friends weren’t so open with their feelings I might not have ever finished writing this.
And Jennifer asked.
We’re off to Temple in half an hour.
ChoppedLiver
The older one gets, the more change-resistant one becomes. (And you must admit that older you are getting.) And in this horrific year of losses, wanting to hang on tight to what one knows and everyone one holds dear follows the natural order of things.
While these may not be the words Helen would use, I believe they might mirror her sentiments.
As to what you are to do with the feelings, she might comment that you have not been sitting on them, that you have been expressing your separation anxiety in various forms for months and months. She would also tell you to keep doing that until you don’t need to anymore.
el Kib
Well put, CL. If anyone could conjure HO thus, ‘twould be you, and I like your take.
P.S. How’d FB become CL … ?
Hil K
Oh I didn’t mean to “kick the loss door open” for you…
Saying goodbye to Matt and Kathy last night was hard, and more people are pouring out of Acton tomorrow, but I’m still stuck here for 11 more days!
Hope you have a nice drive to Philly, and give Matt another hug for me.
rakkity
But what else are blogs for? To express one’s feelings and convictions to the world. It’s far better than standing on a soapbox and shouting to the trees in Acton Center, or writing a never-to-be read pamphlet of one’s memoirs. (Though I know some who’d rather remain clogged
and unblogged.)
And a fine piece of blogging it is, I might add,
Michael
The older I get the more feelings I find, but convictions? Seems like only political ones. Everything else in life is too complicated.
We stopped in New Jersey to vist Diane’s aunt and uncle and arrived in Philly before 6 PM. Total real drive time – 5 hrs 45 mins. Two weeks before, stopless Matt and Debbie had made it in five hours so I’d say a weekend visit would be a snap.
And what a place to visit. The campus is woven into the city and though it’s laid out in some theoretical rectangle , the unfamilar might end up off campus, in a bar for instance, drinking beers at fifty cents a slug. And that’s why it thrills me so – not the cheap beer but the blurred boundaries of campus and city. Churning and vibrant and real come to mind, as well as stately, academic and distinctive. It all feels so Matthew.
rakkity
Would Benjamin Franklin recognize anything there today in Philly? He spent most of his life there starting from the age of 18 when he fled Boston and his abusive brother. Philly was “churning and vibrant” even in the 1730s–much more so than NYC–according to Ben in his autobiography.
michael
What? Connelly or Child or Baldacci are now writing history?
Hilster's Mom
Michael,
Thank you for sharing how you are processing this milestone in our children’s lives. I, too, am processing in my own way. I write a series of letters to Hilary as narrative of her life through my experience. It helps my feeling of loss to explain to her how she has impacted my life.
And I am noticing the little quirks that she has carried with her through childhood and into adulthood. Like the way her one eye blinks just a little slower than the other (imperceptible to anyone but her mother) when she is trying to get away with something. She is a terrible liar. One of her best qualities… Or how she chews just a little lopsided. It’s almost like I am looking at her at age 8 and 18 at the same time. It’s wonderful and excrutiating at the same time. I think you know what I mean.
Any other parents out there celebrating/grieving in a special way? I’d love to hear how you all are coping.
Hil K’s Mom
Hil K
Mom, you’re making it sound like I’m partially paralyzed in my face or something.
Hilster's Mom
You’re my little freak of nature. Too bad we can’t use this to park in the handicap spaces. He he he.
BirdBrain
Michael – I loved your open letter and wept. And then gave thanks that I could talk to my own mom about this transition time. Thank you.
Hearing others write about this shared experience is wonderful. Perhaps we can share – on the blog, of course – some photos of the kids moving in??
michael
You read my mind, BirdBrain. Maybe I should see what I can get from Hil’s mom if she’s not too busy applying for those handicap plates.
I’ve got pics of Matt and his roommate and I tried for one of his room, but I need a fisheye lens to get more than a small section. It looked an awful like a prison cell before they both moved their stuff in. But clearly good coordination because I see only one TV, one small refrigerator, and one stereo.
ChoppedLiver
Please, bring on the pictures. Of all of them. Soon.
el Kib: When the blogmeister listed everyone who had ever contributed one word to the blog except Bill, LaRad, Diane, and FierceBaby, FB was clearly CL.
michael
The son of an acquaintance. I like that. How about the nanny or the butcher on his day off? Times have changed and I’m thankful for that.
Matt’s moved in and he’s dividing his time between his new friends and us. And let me tell you about those new friends. Every two blocks or so Matt says hi to someone. Now this is a kid who has spent just four days here and that was during orientation. And keep in mind there are some thirty thousand students on campus. What will it be like when we come back for a visit, after he’s been to class and to parties and political rallies?
I joked about how all his phone calls were coming from his “new” friends and that his “old” friends were like so many empty soda cans on the floor of his room back home, gathering dust and forgotten about, but he didn’t laugh. Not one bit.
Someone with better access and better talents should write about that tight group. Plumb those depths. When I left I never looked back. Didn’t call, didn’t write, nothing.
Jennifer
Michael, that was just too mean! The empty soda cans comment, I mean. It’s just too close to the fear. No one means to do that (I bet anything you didn’t) and some of the better ones (like Matt) are hoping they won’t, but scared they will.
So, you’re being allowed to stay for several days? I think we’re being allowed an hour or so. But by the time I’m back, I’ll be too busy to tell about it.
La Rad
Your open letter was heartwarming. Thanks for sharing. You are being hit with substantial losses at the same time…both different but still wrenching. What to do with those feelings. CL’s suggestion is dead on. There’s also eating, drinking, crying, spending, little white pills… pick one. Then get a dog. It will be a diversion and give you something to take care of all at the same time.
So Matt has left already. Caroline not until Labor Day. However, her bags are nearly packed and she purged her room of clothes that don’t fit and things she doesn’t use. She’s ready to move on. I hope we are.
We the parents of the Millenials- (a/k/a the ‘next great generation’…I’m not making that up!) kids born between 1982-2002 have been labeled Helicopter Parents. We hover. We had baby on board signs for our car. We were more involved in the day-to-day activities of our kids then previous generations. With a grain of salt, here is a quiz to see if you fit the bill or not. From Newsweek: http://msnbc.msn.com/id/12746612/site/newsweek/
Below is also from Newsweek. If you see me behaving like this shoot me. Oh and P.S..if I didn’t have 2 more at home with me I’d be out of my mind.
Some boomer parents hang on, propelled by love (of course) and insecurity about how the world will treat their children. After years of supervising homework, they think nothing of editing the papers their college students have e-mailed them. A few even buy textbooks and follow the course syllabi. Later they’re polishing student résumés and calling in favors to get summer internships. Alarmed by these intrusions into what should be a period of increasing independence, colleges around the country have set up parent-liaison offices to limit angry phone calls to professors and deans. Parent orientations, usually held alongside the student sessions, teach how to step aside.
Mother K
We almost went to that orientation class for parents, called: “Letting Go: Dealing with Separation and the Empty Nest,” but we returned to our hotel for a nap instead. (Maybe Matthew is spared some hovercraft activity by our advanced age and exhaustion.)
michael
To Hil K’s Mom,
On our way back from Temple, Diane and I listened to Terri Gross interview Robin Williams, and she asked him about his role in “Good Will Hunting.” He mentioned various parts, but one he dwelled on, even quoted from was when Sean reminisced about his wife. Reminded me of your comments about your daughter:
WILL
She woke herself up?
SEAN
Ye e e e sss…. Oh Christ….aahhh, but, Will, she’s been
dead two years and that’s the shit I remember.
Wonderful stuff, you know, little things like that. Ah,
but, those are the things I miss the most. The little
idiosyncrasies that only I knew about. That’s what made
her my wife. Oh and she had the goods on me, too, she
knew all my little peccadillos. People call these things
imperfections, but they’re not, aw that’s the good stuff.
And then we get to choose who we let in to our weird
little worlds. You’re not perfect, sport. And let me
save you the suspense. This girl you met, she isn’t
perfect either. But the question is: whether or not you’re
perfect for each other. That’s the whole deal. That’s
what intimacy is all about. Now you can know
everything in the world, sport, but the only way you’re
findin’ out that one is by givin’ it a shot. You certainly
won’t learn from an old fucker like me. Even if I did
know, I wouldn’t tell a piss ant like you.
WILL
Why not? You told me every other fuckin’ thing. Jesus
Christ. Fuckin’ talk more than any shrink I ever seen in
my life.
SEAN
I teach this shit, I didn’t say I know how to do it.
WILL
Yeah…….You ever think about gettin’ remarried?
SEAN
My wife’s dead.
WILL
Hence the word: remarried.
The audio clip.
Jennifer
To Hil K’s mom: I’m not (coping).
Hilster's Mom
Thanks for all the comments folks. It’s comforting to know that I’m not alone.
I’m experiencing a mixture of supreme pride and joy, and extreme anxiety. I’m so proud of the choices that she has made that have lead to her to this point in her life, including choosing this wonderful group of friends. I’m so happy when I think about all the oportunities before her and the potential she has to create an amazing life for herself. If you know anything about Hilary, you know she is not shy, does not mince words, can talk to anyone, and is not afraid to go after and get what she needs to take care of herself. She is a typical oldest child and I worry more about her roomate than I do about her! God save this girl if she snores or borrows something without asking. (Ask her little sister Hannah.)
I’ve loved every moment of this child’s life. She challenged me from day one with her strong personality and I am a better person for mothering her. She has taught me more than any mentor I’ve had. Hilary holds up a mirror and makes you look at yourself from every possible angle. It’s her nature to question the logic of everything. It’s not always pain free, but it is admirable that she does not break in a gale and holds her ground. She’s not easily swayed by the “follow the crowd” mentality.
No, Hilary can take care of herself. The anxiety stems from me and only me. As the years pass and I watch her grow, I am anxious that I wont remember the little things that make her who she is. I’m scrambling to find old pictures of her tormented years in braces or traces in my memory of her squeaky 2 year old voice. I’m remembering her vocabulary from childhood. Wimple snipers were windshield wipers and scoosiver was a screwdriver.
I documented, I took the pictures, I’ve saved all the Mother’s Day cards, but it’s not enough. She’s growing up right on schedule, but I’m not ready and pictures and memories are just not enough. They just aren’t.
Any interest in getting a group together for dinner? It might be nice to get together and share a drink and some pictures in person.
Caroline's Mom
Hilster’s Mom: What a lovely commentary you wrote. You have put into words what some of us are thinking. I think you should copy it and put it in her college graduation card. I wonder what will be worse, letting the first one go or the last one.