A Mom's Angst

It was time.

My head knew it. My heart, however, ached -- and still does -- yesterday at the realization that the last vestiges of my little boy are disappearing, piled in bags in the hall ready to be donated to charity.

I was thrilled in the afternoon when, with no prompting from me, my new high school sophomore started clearing out a few things from his room and closet. I walked in at one point and saw a stack of jeans on the floor ready for Goodwill; I think he outgrew his jeans twice during this school year, so that was great to discard those for more room.

He's an avid reader, and some reorganizing of his bookcase was necessary - that was all fine and dandy.


But then, while I was fixing dinner, he walked through the kitchen and announced, "There are 3 trash bags of Bionicles for Goodwill." I smiled, and only said "Wow!", but inside, my heart twisted, and a song (there's always a song!) began running through my mind. Along with those, I also saw discarded Legos, fire trucks, cars, and other little boy toys he had never before been ready to relinquish.

As a little guy (wasn't that just last week?!), he loved playing with his "traffic." That's what he called it when he was 3. After all, if lots of cars on the road = traffic, lots of cars on the floor should be called that as well, right?! And though he hasn't played with them in years, they've remained in his closet, steadfast and constant even through several previous clean-outs. Until today.

After dinner, he proudly showed me his closet, which once again was a walk-in. I smiled and told him what a good job he had done. (I did take comfort in seeing that he had kept one truck, an Electric Company bucket truck that the Houston Power Department sold as a special promotion when he was 3. My dad ordered it for my boy's Christmas present a week or two before he died - in fact, it was delivered a few days after my dad's funeral. My boy adored his granddaddy and although the memory is vague, he knew that truck was associated with him and kept it.)

As I left his room, I bravely walked past the bags and piles in the hall ready to be donated.

And came to listen to the song:


A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys. . . .

Photos courtesy of stock.xchng

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