Thursday, 2 September 2010

Revisiting - Only Yesterday


(June 2009)
It was only yesterday you would run to me when you were upset or hurting. It was only yesterday you held me tight. Rib crackingly tight. For no other reason than that you felt like it. Only yesterday would you share every discovery. Every happiness. Every fear. Every dream. Good or Bad. Every new step. Each fall.

Was it only yesterday you kissed me goodnight for the last time. Telling me gently, but firmly. It wasn't necessary any longer. My heart missed a beat. It isn't? Where is that written? Show me. I wish to silently protest. I'm not ready. Not yet.

I think it was only yesterday when I listened furtively for your each sleeping breath. One to follow after another. So then I too, could breathe.

It was only yesterday you tied your shoes. You buttoned your shirt. You zipped up your coat. First times. By yourself. Beaming with pride. You. Me.

This week you have been on work experience. You've been surprised by the joy and the satisfaction you felt. A class of six year olds called you Mister Watson. Three little giggling girls told you through trembling hands they loved you. A boy asked you if you could be best friends. Life learning. Experience. It has begun.

It was only yesterday I stood paralysed and cold. My eyes following your every step. Every fall. Trip and tumble. On a frozen concrete playground. I stood. On duty. Seemingly, ignoring each other. Balancing the thin line. Secretly comforted by each others presence.

Only yesterday you played in your band for a parents 50th Birthday. I watched you try to hide the emotional squirms and flinches. You asked if we were going. I knew we could not. It is your time. (shhh! I can catch you on youtube)

Your wide dimpled smile sits comfortably in your malleable face. Daily it appears to morph towards manhood. Giraffe like you saunter. Finding you way. Over six foot you tower over me. Man child.

Next week you go away with your history class to WW1 Battlefields in Europe. To the Somme & Ypres. Then a few days later you leave again. For the Duke of Edinburgh award trials. Overnight. Four lads. On the Lakeland fells. Alone. Now I squirm and flinch. My skin itches. I waken suddenly from my thin sleep. My mind is pacing. Across the ceiling. Back and forth. Your bed is empty. Your room is still. My hands sweat and I blink back tears. I try to swallow the fear. My throat tightens. My breath catches deep in my heart.

How do I let go? This is the hard part. The part I have kept boxed away. How not to see them. Nor touch them. Not to reach out every day. I will dehydrate. I will shrink. Visibly smaller. I am less. Lost. To thirst for the smell of them. To breathe them in. Let them go. I know. I must begin. Or else they will tug and pull and rip themselves from me. I am told they will return.

I will sit on the periphery of their lives. On the edge of my own. Watching. Wanting. Waiting. For morsels and cake crumbs. I will drink deep from the well of memory.

She is seventeen. He is almost fifteen. How fast it goes.
And it was only yesterday...

(..and how it has changed in the 12 months since l wrote this post,
 if only l had known, would anything be different now?)



18 comments:

  1. So well expressed! Every mother knows the feeling...and why can't we rewind time? I'd like to do it again please......

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  2. Oh, I remember this one so well. And now...prize winning eh? curl up around this one Sazzie...you're good you know.

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  3. So well said, but I have to tell you it can get even better. One day they will share with you the blessings of having a child of their own or might even ask for advice on something. I've had to bite my tongue a few times when this has happened. :)

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  4. WOw - the Queenager is 17 and the Man-Child almost 15. Snap. (We'll just forget about the 7 year old for the moment.)
    Doesn't time fly.

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  5. This brought a few tears to my eyes ... as I suspect I'll be feeling this way 10 years from now. I can't even imagine what it will be like.

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  6. I love your blog!! My son is off to Uni in 3 weeks time and my daughter has just started AS levels - where did the years go to?!! i am trying to reflect the changes in some of my blog posts but the kids insist on vetting the photos....!

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  7. I was actually in tears by the end. I look up at my sons now, where I once looked down into sweet little faces. I long to know their every tought and deed and fear knowing the dangerous things I know that they experience, being this world at this time. I wish only mothers ruled dthe world at times, do you?
    Hugs
    from one mother to another
    Sandi

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  8. A beautiful poignant post. What a difference a year has made to us both , eh?

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  9. followed you here from another blog
    your words have been wrtten by me
    in another way in another time
    with different children
    but they have been my words too
    ....lovely blog
    I'll look around a bit if you don't mind
    -Suz

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  10. Beautifully expressed.No one knows what a year will hold in store for us. Maybe it is just as well as we would never cope.
    Your words describe so exactly, my memories of my own children gradually pulling away..... like an umbilical cord. Now..... there are the beginnings of it happening all over again........... with my grandchildren. its just the same......sigh.

    Fortunately they come back to us. Nothing can take away a mother's/grandmother's love.
    Maggie X

    Nuts in May

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  11. My dear Saz...what an incredible tribute and post this is!!! It must make your son so very happy...and I suspect you would have written this just the same even if you had know the future. You are an incredible lady, writer, mum and friend!! I am so honored to know you! Love you so much! Janine XO

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  12. Beautifully written and actually whilst your circumstances and life have changed dramatically you wouldn't have written that any differently now I suspect Lx

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  13. Well done - just my thoughts - were you peeking ?

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  14. Where does the time go Saz? We love them so...

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  15. Beautifully expressed. I am about the same age as you but my children are older and my daughter has just had her first baby. I remember so acutely the feelings you describe. When my daughter left to go to university I had to stop the car because I found myself in tears (and I am so not a crier). But I do want you to know that having adult children is just the best thing. I never imagined I would love it so much and hope, as yours get older and launch themselves utterly on their own lives, you will love it too. Truly it can be the best of all worlds, just takes a bit of time to get there!

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  16. I know... one of 20 and one nearly 15.

    The oldest was working as a teacher the other week as part of a training scheme - holy cow! Then they have a problem and I still want to dash to their aid, sort it out for them, tell whoever is the issue to leave my kids alone etc.

    Tricky being a parent isn't it. I'd have thought this bit the easiest but it is far from it

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  17. Saz, who feels it knows it. As achingly wistful as this is, i know the sense of loss, of time having slipped by much too quickly, is even deeper. mine are 18 and 16. i know.

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Thanks for stopping by!

Take the weight of your feet, draw up a chair and pour yourself a cuppa. Leave your troubles at the door and together we shall ride out the storms.
I will walk a while in your shoes...

Saz x