‘Our house is as quiet as a tomb.” So said a friend who’s at the same stage of life as I am — that is, mother of three with only one child still living at home. Her youngest, unlike mine, is an introvert, but like my Ben, he is exceedingly busy in his last years of high school, thus leaving the house echoing with emptiness.
As a college sophomore I visited my academic adviser with a problem. “I don’t know what I’m going to do after graduation,” I confessed. He cocked his head sideways. “Most people don’t come to me with this until senior year.” I’ve always liked to get a head start on fretting.
Why did they have to become such engaging and winsome people? It wouldn’t be so hard to see them go if they were dullards.
Jonathan, whom many readers have been kind enough to ask about over the years since he suffered a serious head injury at age ten, is now working at a job he loves. He’s living semi-independently and has totally mastered the public-transportation system. So committed is he to his work that he volunteered to go in on the Friday after Thanksgiving, though he’d been offered the day off. He loves to cook and bake, and we’ve agreed not to object to any hair color he chooses so long as he does nothing permanent to change his body. (No piercings!) He still takes some things in life hard — the recent death of his girlfriend’s dog was tough — but he is achieving a reliable equilibrium that is hard won and gratifying.
He’s launched. Our talks are snatched now when he’s home for all too brief vacations or very occasionally by phone. His bedroom, which we must de-clutter some time soon, is like a memorial to childhood. Beanie Babies, so beloved a decade or more ago, stand sentry on a top shelf. The books he devoured — the Redwall series by Brian Jacques, Terry Pratchett’s works, the Flashman series by George MacDonald Fraser — are faded reminders of a bygone era, alongside more recent additions like discarded trumpet mouthpieces, stacks of dog-eared sheet music, and the letters of Giuseppe Verdi.
Ben still lives here, but I already see him in fast-forward. No longer do I listen for his cheerful whistle as he reaches the front door after school. He’s busy nearly every day with some club, rehearsal, or activity. He’s often gone on weekends too — traveling with the Model U.N. (he assures me it’s far superior to its namesake).
He was born with a sunny disposition and enhanced it with an insatiable curiosity, warm sympathy, and quick wit. It’s been such deep pleasure to share with him my enthusiasms, from the trivial to the profound — and to observe and relish his — from music to Russian to politics. He loves the world and the world reciprocates.
Women are so often exhorted these days to seek “empowerment” of one kind or another. Power is fine, I suppose, but is it as deeply satisfying as giving love and support?
I don’t need to consult an adviser about what comes next. I’ll keep busier with work and spend more time with colleagues after Ben goes off to college. There will even be upsides — my husband and I can eat mushrooms as often as we like. But the bittersweet truth cannot be denied: Such fine young men as we’ve raised leave a huge chasm when they depart.
— Mona Charen is a nationally syndicated columnist. © 2013 Creators Syndicate, Inc.