When Love Grows

When the kids were small, everything seemed to be urgent. Between working a full-time job, caregiving for an ill parent, and kid projects, there seemed to always be a whirlwind of activities that needed my attention.

It was a super busy time.

Now that the kids are young adults, my parents are much better, and my work has changed, things have slowed down tremendously.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s still busy, but in a different kind of way.

I listened to someone give a talk about communicating with adult children and how we move from manager to support in our roles. I had to admit it was eye-opening.

When she told us to lift our hands if we recognized ourselves, I had to lift both hands and feet. I had to admit to myself that the world around me had changed, yet in some ways, I had not.

I wasn’t needed anymore.

I feel loved. I feel respected.

But needed?

Not so much. At least not in the same way.

That was hard for me. Really hard.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want them to grow and thrive.

Isn’t that what is supposed to happen? If you’ve done a good job, absolutely.

I remember the first time one of the kids said they didn’t need my help with something. It stung a bit. Or the time one of them said, “Thanks for cleaning my room, but I can do it now.” Or the time I offered my opinion on something without being asked. Or maybe they did ask but didn’t take my advice.

OUCH!

Lately I’ve been thinking about the quiet weight of being needed.

What does being needed feel like now?     

Maybe it’s not cleaning their rooms anymore. They are in college now.

Perhaps it’s listening instead of saying what I think (especially when not asked). That is one that I must work on, but I am getting there.

Maybe it’s letting them come to me instead of me offering. By the way, I tried that and it worked—yay!

Maybe the weight was never about being needed, but my expectation for it.

As much as I looked forward to the kids growing up and doing things on their own, I have to admit that now that we are here, I miss the whirlwind.

The kids are busy with school, work, and friends, but once a week we have family nights. We crowd together with pillows, good food, and desserts.

They ask me to cook their favorite foods.

Then we argue for half an hour about what movie to watch. It happens every time.

That’s ok. I sit quietly and smile to myself. Arguments and all, it is the one time of the week that we are all in the same room.

It’s the one time they ask for my cooking, instead of take out.

I’m still needed—just in different ways. It’s quieter now, but no less real. I’m learning to recognize it, even when it doesn’t look like it did before.

Maybe that is what it looks like when love grows up.

— J. Lashelle

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