Missing

As I mentioned yesterday, I left Johnathan in Provo to get on with his life. Dang. He's been part of the dailies here in the little white house with the red door for about a year and a half since he got home from his mission, and I miss him. Right now I'll be fine for the most part, then the feeling comes at me from around the corner as I think something like "I wonder if Johnathan will be home for lunch-I'll make such and such" and I almost go to text him and I remember. Oh. Right. You see, it really is daily stuff. I just like having him around. We talked all the time. His job kept him coming and going during the days and I loved the constance of his inconstant presence. He always showed up just in time when the quiet started pressing on my ears.

As always, the great dichotomy of motherhood is that we miss them, but we thrill to every evidence of their independence and success. Yes, so it is. I have a moment of awareness each night when I realize that I can lock the deadbolt instead of leaving it open when I go to bed because Johnathan is not out late with friends. Then I hope he still is, but remember that he won't be coming home to this house after I'm settled in my jammies and coming up to say good night because he knows I don't sleep till they're all home, even the 22-year olds. As it should be. Really. It's time. He's ready. It's good. He needs to live in a sketchy student apartment again and meet new people and have occasional Sunday dinners with Jeff and Ashlyn and go skiing if he wants and try rock climbing with his cousin and feel free and strong. It is what I want for him. It's just inevitable that there will be some adjustment and I probably will end up perplexing him with a random text or two asking him when he'll be home and can he pick up something at the supermarket on the way. I've grown accustomed to his face.

I'm ever so grateful that I took the time to drive with him and see his steadiness, his focus on tasks at hand, to laugh along with him and listen to his music and share in the amazement we both felt at seeing the Rocky Mountains. He listened to The Poisonwood Bible with me and seemed to enjoy it. He's just good like that. Sensitive and present.

In the end though, and most importantly, this step is a triumph for him. His admittance to the university of his choice came after long years of hard work and desire. It was not an automatic thing, and I really, truly would not have him here under my wing. As easy as our relationship is, he was still a caged bird and was straining for freedom.

So, I think I'll go listen to this a few times and be glad he's made it up into his very own sky. That makes it worth it.