Getting started this morning is oddly comforting as I slowly click up the speed on the treadmill. It’s the second week of May, but an unexpected weather pattern released a blanket of snow across Littleton and welcomed us with about six inches of wet, slushy snow. Instead of running outside admiring God’s handiwork, today I’m inside staring at the gym wall. But, running today is an absolute necessity – the kind of day that, for me, calls for a bit of extra headspace and reflection. You see, today is Keegan’s last day of high school. It is a milestone for both of us. But mostly, right now, it means that it is the last morning that I will ever make breakfast for him and hug him goodbye before he heads off for school.
These are the moments where I say, “Where did the time go?” But, I do know where the time goes and I have no control over it. When Keegan was born, I promised myself that I wouldn’t forget anything. I swore that I would be absolutely present in every day. I would never wish the days away and I would welcome the difficulties as part of this beautiful new experience. After the second week of motherhood, however, I realized that I was a ridiculously imperfect mother. I not only wished the days away, but I cursed my new life. I was beside myself thinking that I was a first-rate parental failure.
Keegan, thank you for living a real life and inviting me in.
Then, after a long night of rocking him to sleep and finally placing him back in his crib, it hit me. Baby Keegan did not expect perfection from me. His eyes told me that his only need was my unconditional love. His only expectation was to see my face when he cried, to hear my voice when he felt alone, and to feel my touch when he was afraid. So, I decided to just do what came naturally. I just loved him. It was simple. It was just a matter of giving him what I already had – my heart. Baby Keegan knew no perfection. He would take only what I was capable of giving him. Oh how freeing it was to know that I could just be myself and that’s all he expected and needed.
Just be myself – be real. It was an incredible concept – a very simple, yet very foreign concept to this over-achieving stressed out 29-year old new mom. And, it was a lesson from a one-month old baby that I will never forget. This moment of quiet peace marked the beginning of an 18-year course in humanity with Keegan as my devoted instructor. It’s strange how the human mind works. You see, before I started running today, my plan was to write Keegan a letter for graduation. It was to be a commencement speech of sorts where I would provide him with some gold nuggets of wisdom that I’ve collected over my 46 years. But when my mind started in motion with the whirring of the treadmill belt, I realized that anything I could possibly share in the form of worldly advice he’s already experienced – because it was the result of him. His existence and his love formed the moments that shaped us both.
The pictures in my mind are flying by with every minute that ticks off on the LCD screen and I feel myself falling deeper into the recesses of my memory. As the miles fly by beneath me, I’m unearthing life lessons and precious moments that I’ve almost completely forgotten. These are the moments that Anna Quindlen shares in her book, “A Short Guide to a Happy Life.”
“Life is made of moments, small pieces of glittering mica in a long stretch of gray cement…”
These are the moments that matter – the ones you reflect on when you think that nothing in your life has added up to anything or that you’ve never made any type of real contribution. They do add up. They do matter. They are the moments that give you peace when you’re still so alone in a room full of people. In fact, those moments are all we really have. And they are moments that no one can ever take away. I learned all this from living a real life with Keegan. As mother and son, we live a life where we are given permission to be ourselves. To share how amazing it feels when we get to take a long run and watch God’s world awaken or when we land a three-sixty into two feet of fresh powder on a brand new ‘epic’ snowboard. Like Anna Quidlen, I believe we all need to experience a real life. A real life with real emotion and real fears – and share that life with others. It’s taken me up to this point to really get it, but I think I finally do.
Without Keegan in my life, I doubt I would see life with so much clarity or live it with so much passion. He is a blessing. And today I can say that I fully and wholly love and thank God for bringing me this blessing. I can remember so vividly one day in the fall of 2007. I was in the midst of my divorce and as I was driving home from work, I realized that all the leaves had fallen from the trees – they were bare and the sky was grey and it was cold. I remember feeling so sad. How could I have completely missed the changing of the season and the beautiful leaves as they transformed from green to red to gold? How had I had been so absent from this life that I missed this incredible gift from God? When did I become a cardboard cutout of a person?
The day I told Keegan about this moment is etched in my memory. As I increase the incline on the treadmill, my mind goes back to the day we were driving in the car and passed by the spot where I realized that fall had come and gone without my notice. I told him the story. He didn’t say much at the time, but every autumn since that day, he has subtly pointed out the changing of the leaves and how much he loves Colorado in the fall. By just being himself, Keegan has taught me more beautiful life lessons than anyone else alive – and has helped me see grace manifested in him and in so many others.
Truthfully, I have no advice for Keegan – only this. Thank you for being you. Thank you for giving me permission to be me. Thank you for showing me the real meaning of unconditional love – for that is what makes me free to love and help others. Thank you for allowing me to be an imperfect mom – the mom who is terrible with math homework, whose house is not always organized and neat, whose laugh can be a little loud, or whose tears can flow without warning. Thank you for living a real life and inviting me in. For being present. For crafting a spirit. Without you, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. And that’s a pretty amazing legacy for a kid just graduating high school.
