I Want My Old Job Back

I WANT MY OLD JOB BACK

It’s taken me five years to accept the fact that Kevin has moved to Florida and isn’t going to be coming home any time soon, if ever (except for rare holidays and the occasional wedding. But everyone’s getting married off, so I don’t know how I’m ever going to get him home as often). My ‘only begotten’ was cool with moving on with his life. The nerve!  I’m not kidding when I say it’s taken me close to 1,825 days to emotionally let go and accept my new identity: unemployed super mom.

I didn’t like having to turn in my ‘mom card’ the day he moved away. Kev doesn’t call to ask advice anymore. He doesn’t call me to tell me where he’s going (which is a healthy thing.) However, when he does call I save his messages. I have the last three years on my voice mailbox. He doesn’t call too often, which is why I save them. There are only 10 messages, but whose counting? Don’t judge me; I know it’s pathetic. 

 I was pretty invested in doing life with Kevin. It started with carrying this little endowment from God in my belly 270 days (+ 10 more to keep me waiting--giving me a heads up what was in store). Kevin from Heaven; he was the pride of my life and he knew it!

I also raised an Alpha Male (affectionately a.k.a ‘The Kid’ in my circle of friends), so the day after he turned eighteen he moved out. Although, according to him he was kicked out. The truth is he no longer wanted to be parented and live under our terms of agreement (we each have our own separate versions of many things that happened between the ages of 17-19). Roughly 6,570 days of my life were centered on being a mom (give or take the weekends he was with his dad, the days at camp, the nights sleeping over at a friend’s house, and the few months he moved back home--for reasons we will save for another story). So now, seeing him once or twice a year for 3 days doesn’t fill up my ‘mama tank’.

The day Kev drove off to FL came like a sucker punch. Our goodbye at the O’Hare Oasis was difficult and complicated (BTW-I have been give permission to freely write about The Kid. (Our agreement is if I ever write articles or a book someday and he’s in it, he gets dibs on a percentage. Deal!).  Anyway, even though our separation wasn’t a storybook parting (cue the music), in my heart I knew I still had so much I wanted to say. I wanted to bless him. I wanted to admit the errors I made (but that came a year or so later). Like when Thorin, in the The Hobbit who recognizes just before he dies he was wrong about Bilbo Baggins – he didn’t see him for who he was because the battle loomed larger. In the King’s way he asks for forgiveness and says, “There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly west. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure.” I knew there were no do-over’s. That ‘was it’ the day we parted.

 Things have settled down in my heart. I don’t cry as often or wait for the phone to ring. I do miss seeing the hilarious, interesting, and offhand things that Kevin used to do day-to-day. And I miss being able to point out the good things I saw in him. I also know I did my share of pointing out things that concerned me. But that was my job back then. I’ve just about nipped that habit in the bud too. Who am I kidding, I even miss (some) of those good old days: our verbal sally - each trying to out-fence the other with our riposte. I miss Kevin’s smile (which he refuses nowadays to give me if I’m holding up a camera for posterity’s sake). I miss his organic brilliance: the holes in Kevin’s fibrous mind absorbing up information causing it to swell. The information in his head trapped until he has a willing audience to share how the Trebuchet was a vital medieval siege attack weapon, similar to the catapult, which is used for hurling heavy stones to destroy castle walls. I miss his humor. It’s gotten bawdier the older he’s gotten (but I’ve mellowed out). We each have a good sense of humor, so we can share an unrestrained pee-in-your-pants laugh together (well, I pee, but that’s what happens when you have kids). Kev’s a hard worker, so I miss those days when he would fix the brakes on my car or anything around the house. Not that you want your kids to do things for you, but I do. I’d rather have him put up the Christmas lights than my husband Rich (Mr. Depth Perception), who falls off ladders.  Also, having the opportunity to eat exceptional French food growing up, Kevin acquired a fine-tuned culinary appreciation for food. Which means, whether it’s sushi or steak, it has to be the best if we go out to eat. I can’t remember the last time we ate at a Denny’s together? But that’s because his parents still pay the check. Even so, it makes me smile because he’s delighting in something he enjoys; and he always says, thank you. Besides, those meals are so few and far between. Don’t get me wrong; he’s not a food-snob. When he returns home from Florida, he always does the Chicago Food Tour: Deep dish Pizza, Italian Beefs, and 10 packs of White Castles. Another thing I miss doing together is going to movies, especially as he got older. Not being into sports or sports cars leaves me minimal ability to connect about high-octane activities with guys. I can hang in there for about 15 minutes on all things testosterone and then ‘I got nothing’. But most movies are gender neutral and you can talk about it afterwards. You name it we saw it old or new (usually the day it came out). We saw all the Jackie Chan movies, Jurassic Park series, Charlie Chaplin, every Raiders of the Lost Ark, Star Wars, even the Austin Power’s Movies (hey, wait a minute, those were guy movies!). Now I text him or he texts me and occasionally we tell each other what movie we saw, or what we need to see next. Just the other night, I asked if he saw Boondock Saints II (we saw the first one together), and was it worth seeing On Demand? But this Mama would rather go see the movie with her son. I know he’s only moved south to Florida, but to me it may as well be Paraguay.

However, letting go has its perks: I get to travel more than my friends do. I had Kevin at 21. I’m footloose and fancy-free while they are still carpooling and picking old French Fries out of crevices in the car seats. My calendar looks uncluttered. I look more relaxed. The furrows in my forehead have softened since the days of running the Spanish Inquisition in our home (the teenage years) and keeping track of Speed Racer. I was actually offered a job by the CIA because my BS detector skills were unmatched. I usually get a good night sleep now because my super sonic hearing isn’t necessary to awake myself when my son comes home late at night. Nor does the phone ring at odd hours (plus I wear earplugs because Rich snores.) Nobody tells me I’m lame anymore, or holds up the L-sign with their fingers over their forehead if I wear sweat pants and flip-flops to pick up the dry cleaning. Fred (my dog) never talks back to me. My house is clean and doesn’t smell like gym-shoes or stale pizza.  I never have to remind Rich to pick up his belongings or leave an open path to the door in case there is a fire. Gosh I miss those days.

Those years went by too fast. Next time you complain that your kids are driving you crazy, go hug them. Soon they will be off and on their own (and you’ll be crying in the frozen food section because you no longer have to shop for a household. Plus your memory is fading and you can’t remember what their favorite candy is anymore!). Mama Bears, if you have the slightest leanings towards co-dependency, brace yourselves. Stock up on Kleenex and build a team of compassionate girlfriends around you who will let you fall apart for a few years. It will pass, but you will probably gain a few pounds before prying your hands off Twinkies and Hershey Bars; which is only code for grieving and letting go of your ‘Baby Bear.’

Acceptance will come gradually when you get still and quiet; when you begin all over with just yourself. Instead of drawing from the old deep ‘parental’ well of nurturing feelings, you draw from a new untapped well of kindness and drink for yourself.  

I really liked being a mom more than anything in the world. Can you tell? It was the best gig I ever had. When Kevin was little he used to quiz me: “You have to love me mom, but do you like me?” Yes, I liked you Kevin, and still do! Sure, I’m pretty bummed that he lives in Florida and we can’t go grab a bite to eat as often as I’d like, especially on his birthday. But I’m happy for Kevin - and proud of him too. He is making his own way in life. I have my own new journey - a fresh new identity.  I think it’s funny because Kev tells me that he’s proud of me for finally growing up too. I think he got pretty tired of me ‘guilting’ him for not calling his mother all the time, or wishing he was still eight years old again. I remind myself my job isn’t to mother Kevin any more. But instead, it is to only to walk along side of him from time to time. If I could get my old job back I would, but I can’t. Dr. Seuss put it best: “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” 

On a side note: 25 years ago today, I became a mom. Happy Birthday Kevin. Wish we could take you to dinner, instead, I'll call you later.

I love you, Mom.