Letting Go

"Ready to dance, Mom?" My oldest son took me into dance position and led me in a slow dance while the strains of a song played during his wedding reception.

I looked up into his baby blues, those same eyes that once looked up into mine with trusting innocence but now shone with confidence. While his bride danced with her father, I danced with my son, happy to be with him, touching him, and trying not to make an idiot of myself.

I struggled to say something appropriate. "Any special thoughts or feelings during the wedding ceremony?"

He smiled, his face infused with joy. "Nothing special stands out. I mostly just felt very peaceful."

"I did, too." A hard admission, since I'd had all kinds of fears that they were too young, too inexperienced, too much like strangers to make such a huge commitment as marriage.

We chatted. We danced. We laughed. I smiled even when I didn't feel like it, knowing he'd remember this, and my attitude for years, knowing the wedding guests watched us, knowing photographers would record my expression.

I couldn't turn back time. He'd grown up. He was bigger than me. And he was leaving me and our home and our family.

Memories flooded me; all those nights bouncing on the side of the bed to soothe him through constant ear infections, all his climbing and his reckless antics, all the pleading to clean his room or improve his grades, the way he used to fall asleep wherever he happened to run out of energy. I remembered the precious times when he snuggled into me as I rocked him, kissing his golden curls and inhaling his sweet, his childish scent, the songs he asked me to sing him to sleep, his sense of fair play, his fearlessness to stand up for what was right.

As the dance came to a close, he drew me into a hug and held on a long time. I burrowed my face into his shoulder and stayed there for as long as he wanted to hold me.

"I love you, Mom," he whispered.

"I love you, son."

He relaxed his hold and I released him. I walked away without looking back as his footsteps lead him toward his wife, the very young lady who would now take my place as the woman in his heart. My throat thickened and tears stung my eyes. With my vision blurred into little more than swirling lights and colors, I threaded my way through guests and tables, hoping to pull myself together before anyone noticed.

My grown up nephew stopped me and gave me a hug. I gulped, hugged him, and moved on. My sister-in-law pulled me into an embrace. I hugged her and let go, trying to move on, desperate now for the exit so I could go make a fool of myself in private, but she hung on, probably unaware that with every second she sympathized with me meant that I lost that much more control.

She called to my husband. "Donna needs you."

My husband broke off the conversation and immediately came to my side. "What is it?"

I opened my mouth but only a sob came out. He pulled me against him and held me tight. Safe now in the shelter of his strong arms, I gave up trying to escape, gave up trying to be in control, gave up trying to be brave. Besides, I was near the far side of the hall and most eyes would be on the new couple dancing on the floor anyway. At least, I hoped so.

I said nothing, just let soundless tears fall as I said good bye to the little boy I used to carry around on my hip.

My husband chuckled softly and placed his mouth to my ear. "Your make-up is running."

Vanity had an oddly staunching effect on my tears. With no purse or tissue in sight, I grabbed a napkin and dabbed at my face. I'd forgotten to put on water-proof mascara.

Later, after we waved good bye to the newlywed couple while they drove away in their decorated car, I turned to my next oldest child, my daughter. "Don't do this right away, sweetheart. I don't think my heart can take it."

She rolled her eyes. "I think I'll elope. Maybe in five or six years."

Could I bear to lose another one that soon?

Raising children so they can leave and start a family on their own is the purpose of parenthood. I just had no idea it would be so hard to let go.