Fu Bomb

There’s no other explanation for this mess. It must have been a bomb. A bomb that was packed with dirty dishes, crumpled napkins, and half-imbibed cans of La Croix. This shrapnel litters every surface of my home.

My two college kids were home for the past three weeks. The first week was exceedingly rough. I was super excited to see my kids but also intentional in managing my expectations. This is a challenging age and stage; everything is in-between and in flux. These young women and men have fresh, new control over life, and yet no control at all. Deceptively, they don’t yet realize that, while the turbulence of life periodically lets up, it never ceases. Most twenty-somethings still strive for an orderly existence in this universe that is as fluid as T2.

This fight to manage the world is exhausting and frustrating, and I got a lot of distress barfed up on me at the beginning of Winter Break. Being ignored was probably the easiest part. Feeling unimportant was not as painful as being attacked and insulted. “How can you stand to cook with these knives; they are SO DULL. I never noticed how primitive your kitchen was. You don’t even have a standing mixer.” Dude. I’m standing and I’m mixing. I AM a standing mixer. 

I didn’t even have energy to point out that this primitive kitchen has turned out about 20,000 delicious meals over his lifetime.

“Why don’t you EVER watch TV? Why is it SO COLD in this house all the time?” *sigh* Every Fu likes a different temperature and this Fu right here is freshly menopausal. We’re all making adjustments. Even the dogs accommodate without complaint. See? Buddy runs hot but Ollie tends to get a little chilly so he cheerfully tosses on a sweater.

This is how God protects us parents. These messy, uncomfortable stretches prevent our hearts from shattering into a million pieces and completely dismantling us each time our children leave. MY heart is like KEVIN Hart when he eats cake in Jumanji. It feels like sudden, alarming, utter destruction. And then.....restoration.

As our kids transition to thriving on their own, we parents are also in a time of change and growth. We are learning how to be competent parents of adult children. Not one of us really knows what to expect or what will happen next. We’re all making this up as we go along!

It is NOT. EASY. “Closet Time” is what Albert calls it when I hide from my family. All by myself in my walk-in closet in the back of the house where nobody even thinks to look for me. With a blanket, a back pillow, a book, and a glass of wine. I can hear them faintly sometimes, “Where’s Mom? Has anyone seen Mom?”

As tempting as it was to hide from all the disdain and to retreat into my closet in defeat and despair, I got angry instead. But in the best way. A defiant, fierce love swept through. “You are my child and you are perfect just as you are and I LOVE YOU, DAMMIT.” I begrudgingly practiced radical gratitude, hissing out thanks through my clenched teeth. “I appreciate that you are alive and willing to spend time in my home. I am grateful that your eyes remain healthy and undamaged despite the ceaseless rolling.”

Like magic, grace seeped into my exasperated bones and replaced my fury with peace and patience. It was not the VOILA kind of magic but more stealthy. I was softened bit by bit. So by the time I heard, “I wish I hadn’t even come home,” I did not flee. Resentment had been pushed out by acceptance and love. It’s hard to be home sometimes, especially when things don’t go as expected. We are happy to see you and want you to find some rest after a challenging term at school. We don’t expect you to spend all of your time with us. We trust you and honor your choices.

Darkness cannot survive in the light. And mustering the courage and insolent tenacity to face that darkness square on seemed to give it the light and air it needed to dissipate. 

The second half of Winter Break was pure joy. We shared our first Trailblazers game experience. We took in the two most important movies of the season: Jumanji and Star Wars. We shared meals, played games, talked, laughed, and spent easy time together.

So when Saturday night rolled around, I cried as we send Chris back off to Philadelphia. And the next afternoon, I cried again as we saw Audrey off to Eugene. These kids literally used to be a part of my body, and it truly felt like chunks of my heart were being ripped away. Beautiful, sweet, funny, smart, messy, grumpy, eye-rolling chunks of my heart.

Fortunately, the heart is a miraculous muscle that grows stronger as it is challenged, stretched, and cared for. Tonight, our house is tidy. It’s a little less chaotic and a little more lonely. There’s more space to move and breathe. Time to gather up the pieces of my heart and restore it in preparation for our next visit.

Thank you for reading! I hope this next year brings you just enough struggle so that you can bask in the glorious peace. You can subscribe here to get new blog posts delivered to your email inbox.