The Quiet Before They Come

 

The Quiet Before They Come Home

I love getting up early. It’s usually just Dawson and me. We breathe in the serenity of the moment before the rest of the world wakes up. Even though my children are adults now, with homes of their own—and even though my house is quiet most days—I still crave the silence of the morning. I love watching the world wake up: the sun slowly coming into view, cars starting in the distance, animals outside beginning their morning routines.

We have these huge, floor-to-ceiling windows that I love to look out of. They allow me to capture the daily, ever-changing rhythm of nature. Today feels especially meaningful because my children are coming to visit. I am beyond myself with excitement.

There is something uniquely hard about the stage of life when your “babies” become adults. You parent differently. They are in complete control of their own lives now. I can offer advice, but life must be lived, not managed. They have to find their own way. We watch them fall down and want—so badly—to scoop them up and make everything better. But if we rush in to save them every time, what will they learn?

I know it’s selfish, because they must continue to grow into who they are meant to be, but sometimes I wish I could go back to the days when they truly needed me. I’d love to fill out a reading log, play with toys on the floor, or watch them experience something for the very first time. I did have those moments, but they are so fleeting. In the blink of an eye, we find ourselves reflecting on our own place in this world.

We love our children unconditionally. There is nothing they could ever do to change that.

Challenges and successes are all wrapped into unconditional love. There were many times I defended my children even when they were in the wrong—because that is the kind of mom I am.

I never wanted to be someone they feared. I didn’t want to be the parent who punished for punishment’s sake. Instead, we lived in a world of natural consequences. There was no grounding in my house, but there were many conversations about choices and the outcomes that followed. When the consequences hurt, I stood beside them and hurt with them. I always wanted to be their safe space—a nonjudgmental mom who would show up, no matter what. I would pick up the pieces, cheer them on, wipe their tears, and love them through it all.

I am very far from a perfect parent. My children have been through things and witnessed things no child ever should. For years, I carried guilt and shame for not being better. Our relationship was often give and take. I leaned on them in ways every parenting book tells you not to. I cried to them. I complained to them. They listened. At times, the line between parent and child blurred. I have since accepted this truth: I did the best I could until I could do better.

That sentence matters.

We are human. We should all strive to do our best until we can do better—and then, we must do better. We have to let go of the guilt that tells us we parented “wrong.” No. We parented to the best of our ability at the time.

I will forever be indebted to my children. They are the reason I kept going. They are the reason I continue to advocate for others. I want them to know that memories matter more than things, and that kindness is a language spoken everywhere. When I look at them now, I see my daughter actively fighting for the rights of those who deserve more, and my son standing up for people who cannot defend themselves.

If I could give them one piece of advice, it would be simple: respect yourselves, love others as they are, and protect the parts of your heart that make you who you are.

As I sit here in the quiet, waiting for the sound of familiar voices and the door opening, I’m reminded that motherhood never really ends—it just changes shape. I may no longer pack lunches or read bedtime stories, but my love for them has only grown deeper and steadier.

I pat myself on the back. Single motherhood is incredibly hard—but it is also the greatest gift of my life. I truly don’t know where I would be without them. Probably lost somewhere down a rabbit hole.

If I could give them one piece of advice, it would be this: have self-respect, love others as they are, but never allow anyone to steal your soul.

As my father once told me, “Go out into the world and do good.”