Feel So Much

“I wish things didn’t feel so much.”

I recently made this statement to a friend.  We were having a passing conversation about life and about how she, much like me, cries at everything these days.  Of course, I’ve cried at everything almost my whole life–at least the parts I can remember.  I’m a feeler.  I’ve always been a feeler.  I will always be a feeler. 

My MIL made a joke recently about how we can tell how can gauge how long we have until school begins, by how often tears well up in my eyes and fall down my cheeks.  If I’m not crying, we’ve got some time.  Well, I’ve shed my fair share of tears over the last few weeks and a look at the calender confirms the truth–school is near.  Change is near. 

I’ve written about this transition each and every year since Charlie went to Kindergarten.  One would think sending them back to school becomes normal and easy.  One would think.  But for me, it’s more than sending them away for the day.  For me, it’s the realization of seasons changing and time marching on.

Time marching on. . . Way. Too. Fast.

We’ve had a really good summer.  We didn’t take any big vacations and nothing monumental happened.  We’ve just spent time together, and well, I enjoy that.  On the last day of school last spring, Charlie, Chanelle, and Meadow sprawled out on Charlie’s bedroom floor for the night.  And then they repeated it every single night of the summer.  We would put them to bed and hear laughter and chatters far past the time they were supposed to be sleeping.  Their sibling bond was remarkable to watch.  Last week, after returning home from a small get-away we split them up in order to get them ready for the school routine.  After kissing the last forehead good-night and closing the last door, I walked down the stairs and burst into tears.

Why do I have to do this? I said to Chad.  Why can’t I just go through these changes like a normal person? Why do I have to feel so much?  His response was quick and to the point, you’ll probably do this every year, it’s just who you are.

And he’s right.  As my grasp on them loosens a little bit more every year, I will feel it to my core.  I will feel the weight of a hundred pound lump in my throat and experience the weight of change throughout my whole body.  I will stand back and watch them grow in their independence and then I will turn my back and I will experience of shower of tears falling from my eyes.  It’s as inevitable as the seasons changing.  It just is.

I’ve developed a mantra, as of late.  A mantra that keeps me grounded and gives me perspective.  It goes like this:  It’s not about you.  When the sadness comes and I find myself wanting to hold on to yesterday, I silently repeat it and guide myself back to the important things:  it’s not about you, it’s not about you, it’s not about you.

You see, I wouldn’t trade my years in school for anything.  The learning, the friendships, the experiences, the challenges, the successes and yes, even the failures.  No, I wouldn’t trade them for anything.  So, it goes without saying, I would never want to deprive Charlie, Chanelle and Meadow of those things.  I hope for them a childhood rich with experiences–with me and away from me. 

So on Wednesday morning, I will put Charlie and Chanelle on a bus and we will begin yet a new season.  Once they are out of site, I will likely cry–knowing that they will be okay and so will I.  It’s just life.

I wish things didn’t feel so much.  My wise friend responded to my statement with perfect words. . . yes, but we feel the good things, too.
Oh yes.  Yes.  With every pound of heaviness that comes with change, there is far more lightness that comes with the celebration of joys.  And the way I see it?  That’s just life. . .

There is so much to celebrate. . .

Summer Nights of Dance. . .

Animal Love. . .

Summer Rain. . .

Little Getaways. . .

Dad and Husband. . .