T-shirts

I walk past the open door of his room at least 3 times every day. The chaos that covered the bedroom floor is now neatly tucked, rolled, and tightly packed into plastic bins he bought himself this time from Target. It's a lifetime of memories of his own, a half lifetime of memories of mine. He wants to throw away a bunch of the stained and threadbare t-shirts that are from high school and college. He wore them painting and working out he says. He wore them to crew and hockey and "Mom, they're disgusting." He is moving on. But I want them. To me, these are the fondled memories that I treasure. T-shirts, hundreds it seems, that say HTAA and The Prep and Go Irish. They have been dripped on and ripped, spilled on and spat on, but they remind me of his baby blanket, now tucked up in the attic in a bin much like the ones he is now filling up; a baby blanket with spit-up stains and holes that he made while dragging that thing around the house and sucking on it as he fell asleep. So loved and so needed for a time. Now I'll take the t-shirts, as a sign of his love and affection for all he did in high school and college, as something to hold onto when he is gone, to calm me when I am afraid and need a piece of him to cling to. When he was a baby and wouldn't go to sleep, I read somewhere that you are supposed to give them your nightgown, preferably one that you have slept in and nursed him in to soothe them, full of your smells and stains so they can feel you near. What do you give to a mother whose child is moving out? 

Now I know he's not a baby. I know he is on to bigger and better things. I know we gave him roots and now we have to give him wings. I know that in my head. How do I tell my heart? I cheered when he graduated college. Cheered when he got a place at the shore with friends. Cheered when he got his dream job because he could work remotely. Cheered when he got his first car. Now he's moving 3,000 miles away. My voice is raw. I can't cheer. I will, in front of him. I'll do my best to keep a cheery, happy face, with tons of congratulations and I'm so proud of you and you did it and you'll be great and it's so wonderful. But inside? Actually, I begged to drive with him. Not begged, but tried to use my mom's Jedi-mind tricks to convince him that I could meet him in Chicago after he visited friends and we'll just drive together. It helps to have another driver. And then I'll fly home. It will be easy and convenient. And I promise to be a good passenger. But he doesn't need me anymore. I just want one more ride with him. 

He'll be back at Christmas he says. We'll see him at Notre Dame in the fall. We'll visit in the spring. Maybe he'll move back someday. But I know the light in California draws you in and keeps you there like a magnet. The fact is he's moving out. He's finding his way toward another home. A home he builds himself. A home where I will be a guest. It's just so hard to let go of him! But maybe I don't have to, totally. I have the pictures, the memories, and the t-shirts. 

While he was cleaning out old boxes he found the graduation gift, cash, that I thought I had thrown away with the cards. I'm so glad he found it. It was here all along, not gone as I imagined. I will keep finding pieces of him everywhere too. I found one little memento the other day - a poem I had written a few years ago when he went to college:

This is the boy who we didn't expect

born with a cord wrapped around his neck

This is the boy who cried all the way home

who never wanted to be alone

I didn't let go of his hand.

This is the boy who called "mo' choo-choos"

who kicked his feet with his brand new shoes

This is the boy who walked the steps to pre-school

and never looked back

I held his hand.

This is the boy who stood at the front door

looking out the window at everything that passed by

This is the boy who fielded and pitched balls

who put on hockey gear and crashed into walls

who cried all the way home 

when he broke his collar bone

was told he couldn't play anymore

I squeezed his hand.

This is the boy who skated in the basement every day

This is the boy who won the game

who got MVP

I shook his hand.

This is the boy who asked his brothers about their day

who didn't want a dog, but loves him anyway

This is the boy who drives across the bridge for high school

I prayed for God to guide his hands.

This is the boy who laughs from his heart

who's going off to school

This is the boy who's looking outside now

beyond my world

And I let go of his hand.