I can see her.....clear as day. Stooped and frail, neck held at an awkward angle, thanks to her dowagers hump. Glorious silvery hair, permed and done "just so", smelling of Aqua Net. I always loved how her hair matched the color of her glasses frames - deep silver with a smidge of charcoal . My Grandmother. My Father's Mother. My Father had her eyes. I have her eyes. We both had her heart.
I always thought it curious (My Father thought it highly annoying), how she could never let us go with just one hug. There was always something else to tell us, or show us, or give us. We could never make it to the car without her pressing something into my Father's hands....Some cake, or pie - some knick knack from Daddy's childhood. A plate or a glass dish, some money.....
She came to me today, unbidden but not unwelcome. She sat on my shoulder as I followed College Boy to his car - not once, but twice. She put her arm around me, as I cried through not one but two grocery stores after He left. She gently told me that I would now need to be Another Mother.
The word came right out of my own mouth. He was not the one to say it - it was me. Right on the heels of "Remember, don't drink and drive", and "Make sure you take the last of your Antibiotic" it came.
"Call me, when you get home."
And I was done for. Two weeks ago, (three days after we moved Baby Girl into College) we moved College Boy into his first Apartment. (I hope that doesn't mean I now have to call him Apartment Boy)
A year round Apartment - with a real kitchen, a washer and dryer, and a permanent address. He lives there now. Home. He visits here. "Call me when you get home".
As soon as those words left my mouth, I understood my Grandma. Every little thing she ever gave my Dad as we were trying to get started on the 2 hour trip home, even when he was 55 years old, was, for her, a tie to a time when she was his "Mama". Something that represented what she had been to him, before she had to become Another Mother. A tie to his first home....the first place that he belonged.....the place where he would always belong. It was her way of saying "Do not forget me"..."Come back again"......."I remember......"
I have no idea how to be Another Mother. I have no example. My Mom died before she could show me how to make the transition from being the Mother of a little child to that of an Adult. Another Mother.
So, College Boy pulled out of the driveway, laden with Sourdough Bread and Strawberry Freezer Jam, a couple of new shirts, and a travel mug of Coffee that I brewed, just for him.
This is what we all want, isn't it? To have our Children grow to adulthood, safe and happy? We read and we work and we do everything in our power to learn to parent children. And then they go off to College, and turn 21, and get an Apartment. And just like that, you have to start all over again, learning how to be Another Mother. On Monday, I will take Baby Girl back to her College. She will exit the car with a beautiful smile and a wave. I wager that she will not even look back, as she takes the wooded walkway to her dorm.
The first signal that soon, she will require Another Mother.....one that presses baked goods into her sweet hands as she drives away. One that prays unceasingly for her safety, her health and her happiness. One that watches as she pulls out of the driveway and heads off towards home. Hopefully by then, I will be a pro, but let me tell you.....it is going to be a steep learning curve - one best approached with caution....and a few tears.
