Today, July 22, 2012, our firstborn son is 30 years old. I cannot begin to explain what feelings that evokes in me. I remember the day he was born as if it were last week....20 hours after labor officially began with a rather large puddle on my bedroom floor, he was yanked unwillingly from the warm, dark, wet, safe confines in which he had become so comfortable. His birth was not what we/I had expected, nor was the rest of his life, if you want the truth. Brian has always been a study in contradictions. So scary smart, such a dingaling.... so dear and gentle, such a temper.... so serious, such a wicked sense of humor. He is Jekyll and Hyde wrapped up in a drop-dead handsome package. And I just can't believe that so much time has flown by so quickly - I swear we just finished having his high school senior portraits taken; recently flew to St. Norbert's for college graduation; last week moved him to start his first job as an urban planner in eastern Washington.
How did this happen? What was I doing when all this maturing was going on? And if he's 30, how old does that make ME? His dad turned 30 just after Brian turned a year. That seemed normal, a 30 year old man with a year-old son. When I turned 30, I was 8 months pregnant with his little brother. Nothing unusual about that. I often projected to see what ages we would be at various times; in the year 2000, Bri would be 18, graduating from high school - the Class of 2000.... when Bri was 21, it would be our 25th wedding anniversary...when Bri was 25, Tim would be 54.... when Bri was 50, I would be 76. Somehow, this year 30 thing never figured into those projections, which may be why I'm having such a hard time.
But perhaps the hardest part is that he will never be mine again. He has a life of his own, he is engaged to marry a lovely young woman who rocks his world, and Mom is pretty much on the fringes - as it should be. He is far away, and his world is light years different from ours. The last four years of the US economy have pretty much knocked the wind out of his sails, and it hurts to see that. I envisioned his life at 30 being one of professional accomplishment, personal contentment, and maybe a kid or two. I realize now that I have zero impact on any of that, and my job is to support him in his struggles, applaud his successes, and back off on the grandkid business.
When he was an infant, I obediently followed the instructions in the "how-to" books regarding feeding - find a quiet, restful, comfortable spot with no distractions; have something to drink within reach, and play soothing music. One of 1982's best songs was by Elton John, and it captured my feelings, and my baby, in a nutshell: "Blue eyes, baby's got blue eyes; like a deep blue sea on a blue, blue day...."
Happy birthday, Bri.
