Letting go

This isn't really about letting go; it's about letting go on. About loving someone enough to let them grow without regrets. There's no sense in mourning the inevitable.

I can't deny that Aiden is my heart. I never knew it was possible to love and enjoy a child as much as I have him. It's the most precious relationship I've ever had, and that's a terrible thing to say, I know, with two beautiful children of my own and a fairytale husband.

Being a grandmother is so different than being a mother. The latter is the hardest job in the world, whereas the former is pure joy, what I like to think of as the reward for having brought up your own children and a comfort to make up for the pain of looking in the mirror and seeing a no-longer-young face.

There are for hopefully, all of us, people who come into our lives with whom there is an immediate and special bond and just a meeting of heart, mind and soul. I've always adored Aiden and loved being with him, but this summer, something purely magical happened. From our first spring days walking to Bay Park/Willow Bay, with him proudly reading each "voltage box" along the way, it was a melding of two people into one. We shared so much joy, so much learning, so much discovery, so much love.

I can say with absolute certainty that this past summer was the happiest of my entire life. Who would have thought it possible that finally, at 57-58, knowing I was facing chemo again, having lost my career, undergone depression so deadly I thought there was no chance of healing from the scars? I remember riding my bike a couple years ago on a hot day thinking that it had been an unremarkable summer or something of the sort (yes, I'm very forgetful.)

But May-September 2007...oh, what times we had. Yes, I am going to write about it in detail, but I'll know when the time is right. I always knew that he couldn't stay four forever, the age I'm convinced is the most precious, just before the world gets hold of them and just after the potty training and tantrums are hopefully a thing of the past and they can talk and reason to the max for a preschooler.

We went on our Bay Park walk yesterday for the first time since spring after a very traumatic bomb scare/fire drill at school. He no longer read the voltage boxes. Not much interested in the flowers or leaves. It was Monster Jam-this and Hot Wheels-that. I loved Lightning so much, and even though I found it rather annoying (probably because of the name), Thomas was good, clean fun for him. But why, oh why, did they let him start on this redneck stuff? He can't help it - violent conflict eats little boys alive. They're like sponges just waiting to have their budding testosterone stimulated, along with their desire for every single little piece of junk produced by the makers.

He was upset that the Bay Park sign was down, as was I. We walked all the way down to Memory Lane, but he was as slow as molasses, staging numerous "motorcycle crashes" from which I had to revive him. To make it worse, I felt the unmistakable onset of a bladder infection and really had to get home. We did have super-fun discovering a huge pile of dirt in front of a home being built. I actually let him climb to the top and slide down three times. Dirty, illegal, probably dangerous, but that's what nonnas do, let little boys bend the rules a little bit, taking that slight risk that a parent wouldn't, knowing that he's really not going to fall down and break his neck, or at least how very remote the possibility is. And I don't have to get the stains out of his clothes!

I have to face and accept that this summer will never come again. If I'm still here next summer, we'll be back at the beach, but I can't, nor should I want, him to be just the same as he was this year. It's just not possible. At his age, every day is a "learning experience," and the once-new and exciting has become etched into his body of knowledge, like the signs on the benches. It wouldn't be normal or natural for him to run from one to the next in wonder a year from now. Hopefully, there will be just as much fun but at a different level. But maybe it won't be "just as much fun." But if I want to continue to be emotionally healthy, I have to accept it with grace and thank the fates that I'm still there with him, my little miracle, my own second generation who shares my blood and my genes (and so much of my spirit).

Live and love and learn and grow, my dear little boy. I will always and forever love you and believe in you and continue to try to infuse all the goodness I can into your precious life.

With a heart full of love,
Aiden's Nonna
October 18, 2007