Transitions

Somewhere in northern California, May 2012

Life is all about transitions. They come regularly - birthdays, milestones, and firsts. They never end, and they are not all positive. (The first time you’re dumped? The first death in a family? The first colonoscopy?) We can’t do much about those transitions, except welcome them with as much grace as possible. It’s important, though, to celebrate the joyous ones.

I just celebrated a big one - my last child, Bryce, graduated from college. All three sons now have college degrees. One graduated in physics, one in music, one in biochemistry. Two are headed for graduate school within the next few months; one will likely go in the next year. Those college diplomas are hard-earned and I'm proud of these sons for achieving that honor. On a practical level, it feels like Robert and I are getting a raise, with no more college fees, monthly payments, and rent bills to dig up.  

Bryce graduates from Adams State, May 2012 - Next step - Graduate school at University of Utah

With all this good news, though, a question nags at me. Is my job as a mother finished? Are my boys officially grown up? They are now responsible for paying their own bills, making their dentist appointments, and doing their taxes. So, what exactly is my role in their lives?

Truthfully, I’m not sure, though a few things come to mind: helping to plan weddings, providing shelter and meals during holidays, calming nerves of new parents after babies are born, perhaps taking a grandchild for a weekend while tired parents get away. I like to think they’ll still travel with me and talk frequently.

But I don’t know. It’s a new era. We’ve never had an empty nest – two days after Bryce, son #3, moved out, my mother moved in. But this feels close to it.

The nest feels a little emptier these days because of another transition. We came to that awful place that all pet owners eventually come to – the time to end the life of a beloved family pet. Pet owners know this day will come. Dogs and cats have shorter lifespans than people. Pretty simple. But it’s still tough.

It was tougher than I thought it would be. It was clearly the right thing to do. Av, our Samoyed-Golden mix, was 16 years old. That’s an old, old dog. It was the only decision we could make, and in fact, it seemed cruel to continue to prolong his life. So, why when I walked up to the counter at the pound, did I choke up when I tried to say, “We’re here for an appointment to have the dog euthanized.”

Part of it was that I’d miss this loyal, gentle dog who snoozed by my feet as I wrote and welcomed everybody into our home with a wagging tail and smiling expression (yes, really). Perhaps a bigger part was that the dog’s passing was a further signal of the end of an era.

We got this dog for Bryce’s ninth birthday. Bryce was starting to read Where the Red Fern Grows for the third time.  He’d been begging for a dog for months. It was time.

Just as it was time to let him go . . . a few days after Bryce’s graduation from college.  

Transitions come and go, and we deal with them one by one. We celebrated this last graduation with a family trip. We went to Los Angeles, then drove up the California coast to San Francisco, where we stuffed ourselves with chowder and sourdough bread while breathing in the briny sea air. For me, travel is perhaps the best way to celebrate . . . well, pretty much anything. So this was a natural.

San Francisco, with Alcatraz in the background, May 2012

I’m not sure what the next transition will be, whether it will be thrilling or sad, whether it will be a major shift or a tiny change. I’ll wait and see . . . and hope for the best.