In the past two weeks, William turned 18, applied for his first credit card, and registered for a language immersion program in Spain that starts in January. (He’s doing a gap year before college.) Marilee took a train with a friend into New York City to then navigate her way to a bus to Long Island where they will meet up with more friends. She’s training for soccer and getting ready to go back to school. I’ve dropped Penny off at her job multiple times. She’s working on her ClemsonLIFE application, with hopes that she will leave home a year from now. She reminds me regularly, when I question a decision or become overbearing, “Mom. I’m twenty.”
I could say I’m really proud of all of them. I could say they are taking very natural human steps towards adulthood. I could say I believe in the “dignity of risk,” the idea that the only way we learn and grow as humans is by taking risks, trying new things, and, implicitly, leaving mom behind. But I could also say I don’t like this growing up and leaving home thing one bit.
I’m delighted at the ways they get to explore and learn and grow. And I’m grieving it at the same time.
As I’ve been musing (and, to some degree, mourning) all these things, Penny took a ferry by herself for the first time. As with her earlier solo flight, she did not think this voyage was any big deal. I of course ran through every single possible problem she might face and waved goodbye with a pit in my stomach. Originally, Penny and her brother were supposed to take the ferry together and then he would drive them both home. He then had to work instead of joining us on the three-day vacation on Martha’s Vineyard (another aspect of growing up I vehemently dislike is kids having bosses who don’t accommodate my desire for them to get vacation days).
So instead of driving home with William, Penny needed to get off the Vineyard on her own by ferry. We arranged for my aunt and uncle to pick her up. I watched her board the boat, knowing that there weren’t assigned seats and not knowing where she should put her luggage, and hoping she connected with my aunt easily on the other side and hoping she could find a seat on the boat and wondering if she might feel seasick and, in sum, worrying. I walked back to the car cursing the people who coined the phrase, “the dignity of risk.”
Of course, she made it just fine. We all reunited a few days later, and we enjoyed a week of games and puzzles and books and bikes and kayaks, with a visit from Penny’s boyfriend and a gaggle of cousins.
I’ve been saying for years that I don’t want my kids to live independently. I want them to live interdependently. And it’s true. I’ve never lived alone, and even when I am on my own, I am interdependent upon so many others all around me all the time. I want our kids to know they are needy and limited and that so many people are here to help them and guide them and love them along the way. What I’ve realized this summer is that they—rightly—don’t want the primary person doing that guiding and loving to be me. Interdependence means developing a network of people and institutions of support and reciprocity. Interdependence means learning to ask for help and take risks and take responsibility and take initiative. Interdependence is not the same as independence, but for me as a mom, it still means letting go.
We are in the midst of a necessary untethering. And that’s my job. To disentangle. To remove what were once necessary supports and are now unnecessary inhibitions to their growth. To open up my hands, and entrust each of them in their own way to this big, scary, unpredictable, beautiful world held together by the God who promises steadfast, eternal, abiding and abundant love.
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Amy Julia Becker desires to challenge assumptions about the good life, proclaim the inherent belovedness of every human being, and help us envision and build a world of belonging where everyone matters. Amy Julia invites people to reimagine the good life through her writing and speaking on disability, faith, and culture. She is the author of several books, including To Be Made Well, White Picket Fences, Small Talk, and A Good and Perfect Gift. She is a guest opinion writer for national publications and hosts two podcasts: Take the Next Step and Reimagining the Good Life. Becker is a graduate of Princeton University and Princeton Theological Seminary (MDiv). She is a member of the Disability Ministry Network and the Alliance for Disability Justice and Ethics in Reproductive Genetics. She lives with her husband and their three children in western Connecticut.
