In Distress

In Distress

A bright blue saree, a large nose pin, orange marigolds in snow-white hair, a bulging shoulder bag and a face that showed every wrinkle of her 70 or so years of age.   She was walking bit by bit towards my parked car; my attention divided between the book in my lap, and the people passing by.   She stopped and put a hand out to rest against the car’s hood; gently closed her eyes, took a deep breath and wiped the sweat off her forehead with her saree pallu.   The sweltry day was taking its toll on her slight frame, and the disproportionately large bag seemed to affect not just her gait, but also her breathing.  

My heart beat faster with an unknown urgency.   She reminded me of a delicate bird, struggling because of the weight someone had clipped on to its wings.   Was there a way I could do something, anything, to stretch those wrinkles around her mouth to a smile?   But then, had the lady noticed me sitting inside the car, she would not have rested against the hood.   Would it be feasible to take away her few moments of respite just to fulfill my desire to help?   Would she feel embarrassed, and walk away once I made my presence known?   I stilled my body while my mind frantically groped for answers.   Would I even be able to communicate with her as we most probably would be unable to converse in a common language?   I started looking around to spot my driver, wanting him to ask the lady if we could give her a ride.

Of course I forgot about the head movement, of course she noticed me, of course her calm expression changed to a cautious one and of course she jerkily moved her hand away from the car.   I grabbed the water bottle next to me, smiled, gently opened the door and offered the bottle to her.   She looked at me hesitatingly, shook her head with downcast eyes and walked away.

I was so annoyed with myself.   I should have been more careful not to move; instead of lending a hand, I had burst the lady’s miniscule bubble of privacy.  

I was feeling blue and I saw blue in the car window again.   She was back.   I opened the door and patted the seat next to me.   She sat down, opened her bag and offered me a banana.   I took it and offered her the water bottle again.   She took it.  

I ate, she drank; we smiled.   She rested for a couple of minutes.   Those minutes brought such tranquility to me.   She took my head in both her hands, made a small kissing sound in the air, opened the car door and walked away.

I was trying to help someone in distress.   In turn, I became distressed and she kissed my distress away.  

How does a mother come to terms with an empty nest?

How do I come to terms with my child going half way across the world, with not being able to ruffle his hair for days, weeks, months at a stretch, with not seeing his bed unmade anymore, with not finding any dirty clothes in his laundry basket, and with not having a sweaty and filthy son back from soccer asking me if I wanted a hug?

The realization that my first-born is no longer under my wings is such a bitter-sweet feeling!   I know he is eager to stretch his wings and test the air-currents.   I hope during his flight he remembers to look far out and set his target somewhere on the horizon.   Of course he will not be afraid to venture some NASCAR loops and skids while flying.   I also trust that along the way he will look at some migratory birds flying in unison to cover long distances and learn from them the marvelous spectacle of team-work to help attain one’s goal.

I remember the times when he was asthmatic, and I stayed up all night watching his chest fall up and down and subconsciously monitored his breathing rate.   Now on his own, I hope he finds the insight and determination to handle his body with the care it deserves.   If only he could see his body as the newest model of the hottest Porsche around.   Ah! How he would love to put the best quality oil at the right intervals, rotate the wheels, maintain the air pressure, take care of any scratch (God forbid such happens!) and feel proud of the 0 to 120 it could do in flat 3 seconds.   I pray his imagination allows him such visualizations so that he can exercise regularly, eat nourishing food and continue to feel the wind whip through his hair while driving the Porsche down the freeway.

The joy in his eyes when he made Christmas ornaments as a child outshone all the Christmas light decorations in the city.   It was the true spirit of Christmas, for he sold the ornaments to help vaccinate infants in a remote village he had never visited.   I have faith that he will continually swoop and stop during his flights to share his blessings and feed his soul.

It takes tremendous strength to be honest with ones own self.   I wish his journeys bolster this trait.   There will be times when happenings will cast doubts along his way, when those closest to him will question his intentions, and when he will feel lost.   At such junctures, I wish he makes time to halt his flight, rest, introspect and have a candid conversation with his inner self to find the correct direction.   What fortune if such a rudder takes the place of ‘Google Maps’ in his life!

At times strong winds will sting his eyes and I hope he accepts those tears just as he will accept the tears of happiness.   Understanding his emotions will bring him peace and reduce the turbulence during his journeys.

So, how does a mother come to terms with an empty nest?   She learns to embrace the word ‘hope’.   Hope is such a beautiful sentiment with the ability to bring calm to pathos and to replace chaos with peace.   A mother hopes that the world her child embraces will give him much more joy, success, love, and peace than she would ever have been able to.