Roots: The underground portion of a plant that serves as support and draws food and water from the surrounding soil.

Wings: A means of rapid ascent.

We move Bennett to college today.

A smile. A name. A home. Food, shoulders to be burped on, knees to be bounced on, a strong grip when we crossed the street. Praise. Birthday cakes in the form of whatever could be imagined. A listening heart. The right to make mistakes. Stories in the dark. Thermometers. Rides; too many to count. Two sisters. Three dogs. Lights on waiting up for you. Where you come from. So much to believe in and so much to hope for. A vision of someone to become.

The universe works in funny ways. A few weeks ago, I was searching for my old childhood pictures to decorate for a (big) birthday celebration. As the youngest of six, it is pretty amazing that I have so many pictures in my possession. Along with the pictures, I discovered this wall “art” that hung in my childhood bedroom for as long as I can remember. I recall mindlessly reading the words and my eyes tracing the lines of the picture for years, unknowingly etching it in my memory. Although it had hung on my wall for years, it was around age 11 when I first asked my mom about its meaning. That was the year we had moved to a new home and she had re-hung it on my new bedroom wall. She talked about its meaning and I finally began to understand it. It remained on my bedroom wall even after I moved to college. I also rediscovered a book that my mom gave me called Roots & Wings. She wrote inside the book cover and dated it 6/9/85, the day of my high school graduation. The book has been traveling with me from book shelf to book shelf ever since. And the wall art continued its journey to a wall of my mom’s condominium guest room a few years after I graduated; after it was clear that #6 of 6 was not moving home again and it was time to downsize. The wall hanging says: “There are only two lasting things we can leave our children. One is roots, the other is wings.”

One Christmas after Bennett was born, I opened a present from my mom and it was this wall hanging. Now that I had a child of my own, my mom thought it was time for this 1970’s wall art to have a new home. To be honest, I never hung it on Bennett’s wall. It wasn’t really in my décor plan for his nursery and then I lost track of it along the way of life. During a move from Texas and two homes in Madison, it was rolled up end to end and traveled place to place. Then, 18 years later while looking for childhood photos last month, it appeared. I found its message just weeks before moving Bennett to college.

It struck me that I had a deep connection to my mom this Summer. I know this will seem like a ridiculous realization, but … she raised six children only to watch them leave. She had similar feelings to mine right now. Love. Joy. Worry. But here’s why this hit me so hard this Summer. Some of you may know my mom and if you do, please don’t share this with her because it will either confuse her, make her angry, or both. My mom has early stage dementia. I’ve never written those words before and they are as hard to write as they are to say. She’s been on my mind constantly. I haven’t had a real conversation with her in over a year, maybe more if I’m honest. For those of you who have lost a parent, you understand. If you have your parents or a parent, be thankful for every word of dialogue. When I look into my mom’s eyes these days, I often can’t find her in there. It’s like a vacant replica of my mom. That’s been heartbreaking. And, I’ll admit I’ve been suffering with my own personal pity party at times in the past year. I’ve been wanting to tell her so much about my experiences and feelings, all while she really needs me more than I need her. This sandwich generation stuff stinks.

You know how when you read a book for a second time, years apart, something catches you differently than the first? I recently downloaded Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl. I’m not sure which college course introduced me to this book. But years later, the topic of suffering struck me. I realize how much we try to avoid suffering or discomfort in our lives. We numb it, bury it, or deny it. Frankl talks about suffering with such beauty and wisdom. His view is that suffering is a valuable part of life, equal to any other. He suggests we shouldn’t attempt to avoid suffering, but rather we should embrace it when it comes. “It doesn’t really matter what we expect from life, but rather what life expects from us.” I bring up Frankl because he insists suffering is what strengthens us. “If an architect wants to strengthen a decrepit arch, they increase the load which is laid upon it, for thereby the parts are joined more firmly together.” He says it’s our attitude toward suffering that causes more pain than the suffering itself. “The last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” So I’ve been suffering in my own way – like all of us I’m sure – in a multitude of ways. And my take away is this: Embrace it. Go all in. Stop avoiding the suffering. Find the joy.

So simultaneously, my oldest – Bennett – is leaving for college today (GASP!). He’s been on my mind constantly.

I believe that finding this random 1970’s childhood wall decoration wasn’t just happenstance. I’d like to believe that it’s my mom talking to me at a time when I crave her words of wisdom. She’s telling me that she too, separated by thirty years, had these exact feelings that I am experiencing. And when I feel like I have so little time left to listen, teach, comfort, guide, and love … I know my mom is telling me that it’s okay to let go. She’d tell me that I’ve provided solid roots and that was one half of the equation. Now its time to fulfill the second half.

Bennett, you will soar.