The little boy clung desperately to his mother's legs . He was five years old and could not bear to be separated from her. But she had to leave.It was time.She was going to the hospital to have a baby. The mother left her little boy crying in her friend's driveway, her friend trying to distract him. She couldn't.
Eleven years passed. Only eleven years- but a lifetime away from that sad day in the driveway. The boy grew to be near a man, though plaintively ambivalent of manhood in his actions. One day he was more excited than usual to go off to school. He got into the car and buckled. Alone. His father had prayed with him. His mother wanted to cling to HIS leg, but instead she kissed him goodbye, and said ," I love you. Drive Carefully." That was it. And he left. Down the road he went.
Somewhere in those eleven years the boy had let go of his mother's legs. Was it finger by finger? Or was it one big letting go? I may never know. It had to happen. It was right to happen. Our oldest child has his license. Sometimes if I think hard enough, I can still see the little hands wanting to hold on, yet needing so much to let go.