The Sound of Silence

There is a special texture of silence for me in a cottage when my adult children leave. A fear – "Please drive safely. Remember there are deer along the road. Moose too." Weekend drivers taking less care as they head back home after a sun-kissed weekend. Canadian wildlife is no joke, no matter what form they take.

It feels like sweet torture really, this letting go. A process that repeats with every leaving. Getting both easier and harder with time.

We had a lovely weekend together. Cannonballs into the lake; SUP trips on the water. Coffee on the deck. Roasted hotdogs for lunch, burgers for dinner. Euchre was played. We discovered a beloved game from Amy’s childhood, “Rush Hour Traffic Jam,” which caught Bruce’s imagination leading to hours of fun for us all. Both cooking and chores were shared among us and our too few days flowed smoothly along, companionable, teasing, joy-filled.

And now, the leaving. My son, engaged to be married next July, already launched into a life now tethered to me only with a thin elastic. He drives our six-speed Honda Fit homeward, motoring down the highway, leaving me behind to fret, and to try to amuse myself with things other than worry.

Managing my emotions is one of the hardest parts of this role as adult parent of adult children. Setting appropriate boundaries, too. Allowing others to resource themselves is a practice that sits on my developmental edge, and I’ve had lots of practice this year.

The lake is now quiet, families having left. The sun is setting and a rosy glow kisses the tree tops on the other side of the lake. The water is calm, mirroring the forest and the sky. The wind, like a fresh breath, ripples the water, ever so gently.

Bruce has gone out for a wee paddle, leaving me here, in the quiet of the cottage we’ve rented for a week. Friends arrive tomorrow, but tonight, it’s ours. The lake’s stillness settles my heart, and I hear my iphone whistle.

“Safe and sound in Orleans. We stopped at DQ along the way!”

Finally, I breathe. My shoulders drop. A wee smile blossoms from my heart.

When Bruce returns, we turn on the soccer game. FIFA continues and Mexico is playing England. A quiet night at the cottage.

Lac McGlashan never fails to sooth. Photo credit T. Chapman