Growing Up and Growing Away
My son is growing up. All of my children are growing up, of course; but it is particularly apparent in my oldest, Cirocco, who, at nearly 12, has officially commenced his transition into tweendom. His once scrawny, string-bean-like frame is now filling out with lean muscles, like his dad, and when I hug him his sturdy, broad back reminds me that I am no longer hugging a little boy, but a young man on the cusp of adolescence.
I am fiercely proud of Cirocco, who has not had an easy go of it in this life, for the thoughtful, funny, and clever young man he is becoming. But at the same time, it’s breaking my heart to see him grow up. I’m unready to let go of his child-self; yet every day I see that child-self slowly vanishing, with or without my consent, and I can’t help but feel that my time with him has gone by way too damn fast.
It is an odd loss for mothers, one that I do not often hear talked about, that we spend the first ten years of our child’s life fulfilling their every need, and then the next ten years teaching them how to not need us. I relished being the center of Cirocco’s world, and the love affair between a little Italian boy and his mommy is something unique and beautiful indeed. But my task, now, is to hand him over to other loves; to no longer be the one he runs toward, but the one behind him cheering, “go get ‘em, kid” as he follows paths that lead further and further away from me.
This bittersweet season of motherhood has brought me to a deeper contemplation of Mary, the mother of Jesus, at a time when her own son was 12, and she began seeing in him these same signs of his coming adulthood:
Now his parents went to Jerusalem every year at the feast of the Passover. And when he was twelve years old, they went up according to custom; and when the feast was ended, as they were returning, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem. His parents did not know it, but supposing him to be in the company they went a day’s journey, and they sought him among their kinsfolk and acquaintances; and when they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem, seeking him. After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions; and all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. And when they saw him they were astonished; and his mother said to him, “Son, why have you treated us so? Behold, your father and I have been looking for you anxiously.” And he said to them, “How is it that you sought me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” And they did not understand the saying which he spoke to them. And he went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them; and his mother kept all these things in her heart. (Luke, 2:41-51).
This story is included among the “joyful mysteries” of Jesus’ life, and I’ve no doubt that Mary was tremendously relieved when she found him safe and sound. But I think there would have been a distinct ache in her heart, too. Because the child Jesus preaching in the temple was a foreshadowing of the time when her boy would no longer be a boy, but a man, a man with a mission that would lead him to places where Mary could not follow. As she watched Jesus among the learned men in the temple, carrying himself with such maturity and wisdom, I imagine that Mary must have felt as I do with Cirocco, that co-mingling of awe and pride with the profound grief of knowing that her son was slipping through her fingers. Soon, Jesus would no longer be “hers”, but “ours”; and though this was exactly what she had prayed for, I wonder if Mary cried, knowing that soon the day was coming when she would have to share her son with the entire world.
Perhaps this is why we hear nothing of Jesus in the scriptures between his infancy and this event at the temple 12 years later; maybe God wanted to let Mary keep something of Jesus that would always be just hers. The precious moments Mary had with Jesus as a child will never be known to us because they were not recorded or written down, but instead kept safe in the heart of his mom. She, who has been so generous in sharing her son with us, deserves that, the dignity of her private memories with her little boy, memories that belong only to her.
I look forward to Cirocco continuing to grow into his own person and giving his gifts to the world in the way that only he can. He is so beautiful that I would never dare keep him all to myself, no matter how much it hurts me to let him go. But I will, like Mary, hold onto something of his boyhood eternally in my heart, that little piece of him that will always be just mine, because I was the only one lucky enough to be his mom.
