Today I realized my ds (darling son) -- my youngest, my baby -- all of nearly 15 years of age -- is growing up, and doing so quickly.
He and I have a sacred spot. It may not appear a sacred place to others, and to be honest, before today, I had not thought of it as such, but so it is. Our sacred spot is ... (drumroll) ... our backyard trampoline. And today, my son, while lying out in the sun on said tramp eating half of a pint of leftover Ben and Jerry's ice cream, told me he wanted to be alone.
That hurt my mother-heart. More than his first day of kindergarten, or when he stopped asking to sleep in our bed, or his eighth grade graduation, or even how unbaby-like he looked when he got braces. Yes, all of those were milestones, to be sure, but there is nothing like when a child tells you they want to be alone in a place you have always been welcome.
In the heartbeat following his pronouncement, memories tumbled unbidden into my conscious mind.
This place -- the backyard tramp -- was where we lay in the warm afternoon sun, just talking, napping, or eating ice cream (the ice cream being a more recent addition to favorite activities there). We would sometimes talk, sometimes not.
We also enjoyed jumping on the trampoline together, especially when ds was younger, though I could never jump for as long as he could. I would say 'No more,' and he would plead with me to jump with him just a little bit more.
This place was where we had spent summer nights sleeping beneath the stars. It was always a contest to see if we both would make it through the entire night without creeping back to our beds. (I'm ashamed to say, I usually lost.) But those times we did wake to morning light streaming through the nearby over-sized pine, I relished the feel of his slender body snuggled close to mine.
All of this and more I felt in an instant. I softly said, "Okay, I guess I'll have to wait for grandchildren," then quietly walked away, leaving him alone.
I don't think his desire to be alone today was indicative of how he will feel all of the time. But it was a first time, and for that, it is a rite of passage.
