A beating heart

When the experts talk about parents and children, they talk a lot about separation, about the child’s gradual distinction of the self from the parent.

What they don’t talk about as much is the parent’s gradual distinction of the self from the child.

This is something I think and talk about a lot, especially now that the nest is empty most of the time. I’ve always thought that the core of good parenting involves respecting one’s child as a child of God – as a brother or sister in Christ. Too often, even the most well-meaning of parents speak of the value of having children involving things like “fulfillment” or “bringing me joy.”

Well, children do all of those things, but none of that is a reason to have children, because all of those reasons ultimately revolve around me and my desires and needs.

It is a huge leap, to get to the point at which you realize – and not just intellectually – that your child is not you. At all.  If you find yourself resisting this, I’ve always found it helpful to consider the question, “Am I my parents? Do I – or would I have wanted my own parents valuing me mostly to the extent that I reflect their identities?” Probably not. And it’s no different for my children. It’s only fair.

It’s something that I never really got until my older children started leaving home and doing their own thing – which happens to hardly ever be my thing. Having that experience of older children setting out on their own journeys really changes the way you parent the younger ones. It leads to an odd but perfectly understandable combination of letting go and treasuring. You let go because you know you have to, that they are not you. But you treasure because you know how fast it all goes, and sooner than you know it, the little one who won’t let go of you? Well, you’ll see him twice a year. If you’re lucky.

But even with the experience of parenting older children, the emergence of a younger child’s individuality still surprises. And it’s not just their individual personalities – that’s obvious from birth. No…it’s the inner life of a child. The revelation of something deeper churning in that head – the beginnings of self-awareness.

One night long ago, a 7-year old child and I were looking at a flap book about the human body. We were looking at the pages about the heart and the circulatory system and I was explaining how the heart works and what was going on when his heart was beating.

The then-child lifted the flaps, looked at the pictures, and considered my words. He was quiet. Then he said thoughtfully, “Sometimes, when I take the timed test at school,” – the “timed test” being a drill of 100 simple math problems they’re given 3 minutes to complete – “Sometimes, when I take it, my heart starts beating really fast.”

And…he sighed.

For some reason, in that moment, I thought that my heart would burst.

Such a little thing. A seven-year old just mentioning that he gets nervous before a practice test. But so many thoughts ran through my head: Welcome to life. It sucks sometimes. Just wait. If you think that’s bad..

But most of all it crushed me a little because once again, it reminded me of my limited reach. My helplessness.

In a way, it is not fair, this thing that God does. He gives us these little creatures, beautiful and gorgeous, who need us so badly, who need us for absolutely everything, and that is the way he calls us to love them – to give and give and give through sleepless nights and exhaustion and the eventual, shocking realization that if you were called upon to give your life, you would.

WIthout hesitation, without regret.

And then, just as you get used to thinking and living this way and it settles in your bones….that right there is the moment they start needing you less. And less. And their inner lives, which once seemed one with yours, become, so gradually, their own private place, the place where they wonder and struggle, rejoice and hurt.

Without you there.

It is hard for a parent – perhaps particularly so for a mother. But it points, as everything seems to do, to the importance – the vital importance – of introducing our children to the faithful presence of the living, loving, comforting God.

Oh yes, there will be times, to be sure, that your heart will beat fast. So fast. And you might not even be able to breathe. There will be times that there will be no one there to tell about this heart, beating so fast and hard as you face the next thing. And the next. And the next.

Your heart will pound within your chest, you will fumble, unsure what to do next. It’s true.

And it grieves my heart that for most of it, I won’t be there.

But that doesn’t mean you’ll be alone.

Know this, we say in the most important catechesis we can give – just know this, and carry it with you on out the door and down the road: we do our best now to help you, but we can only do so much, and even now, it’s never as much as the One who remains long after we’re gone, the One who knows and loves you, the One who will always, no matter what, be with you, who is so very close to you and that lovely, nervous, yearning, strong beating heart of yours.