Thirteen

Dear son,

Last of the year but not least. Your turn, my dear Advent boy. Celebrating the anniversary of your arrival in this world is an opportunity to pause and reflect about my own 13 years of age that feel like centuries ago. Compared to me, you seem to be navigating some of the youth challenges fairly well. For one thing, I was not the skilled soccer player that you are. It is always such a joy for me to see my sons succeed where I struggled. 

That is from the outside, I get it. Everything might look great: good grades, good soccer performance, satisfying social life. From the inside, I have no clue. Only you know. And I want to remind you that I am there. That there might be chapters of my story that you can relate to. For instance, as I was reflecting in anticipation of my birthday wishes for you in the form of this blog, I remembered losing a grandparent when I was about your age. My first significant loss of a family member. At that age, I saw people sad around me. I felt my mom's sorrow after losing her dad. I was programmed to feel sad too, even though I had not developed that much of a relationship with him. He was a quiet presence, dominated by his wife's strong personality. He was laughing in a very particular, raspy way, and he was part of my childhood landscape, so familiarity provided a sense of comfort, but I don't recall having had any deep connection with him. Maybe that is what the sadness was about: the unfinished business. The regret. 

It is strange that this is the experience that popped into my mind this morning, not anticipating at all that I would learn a few hours later about your own grief. It is today that I heard of the passing of beloved Opa. Putting my own emotions aside (because I was very fond of this sensitive, bright man), and the shock of the synchronicity, I am wondering how this affected you, and if you need to process your emotions. He was from a different generation, different culture, different personality. He interacted with you and your brothers in a more significant way than my maternal grandfather did, I think. That is why I am doubly sad. I feel for you. I imagine myself at your age, losing an Opa like that, and I would have all kinds of emotions. He had been part of your affective landscape your whole life until recently. I hope you find friends to talk to about that. Maybe one of them lost a grandparent too, and they can relate.

I trust that you will come up with your own belief systems and conceptualizations about life and death. If that is helpful at all, often we go through life and are overwhelmed by specific experiences that we decode only years later. We go through the pain first, and we understand the teachings it brings only much later. So do not despair. At your age, time seems to go very slowly. But maybe some readings in philosophy or from specific enlightened people will convince you that time is either elastic or an illusion. When you go through stuff at a young age, it can be very overwhelming because it is a big fraction of your lifetime, as opposed to some hardship happening to a 60-yo. Do you see what I mean ? Plus, with the passage of time, there are many good experiences that end up buffering the unpleasant ones. It has certainly been my case. Giving birth to you and your brothers, becoming your mother cleansed my own childhood of some painful memories. Suffering a heartbreak during adolescence doesn't have the same valence as it has in my fifties, for instance. With age, the value of time makes us keep a broader perspective on all experiences. It doesn't mean we are not going through similar emotions, but they might seem less like the end of the world somehow.

Here is what I would have liked to know when I was your 13: everything is impermanent. I might also have started meditating that young too. I think it would have allowed me to live more fully, more connected to my true self. But right now, your job is to being a teenager, with a foot in childhood still, while learning to become more responsible. So, focus on doing healthy activities that give you joy, like sports, learning, socializing. The world needs more smiling people right now. 

My beloved son, I remember giving birth to you as if it were yesterday. I sound like I pretend to know life, but I often have more questions than answers, while you know so much already. You came to this world just like I did: alert, sensitive, open to receive the good and question the irregular. Keep going with your eyes wide open, young man. Know that you are loved. By people who are near, far, dead or even your remote ancestors you have never met. The whole of life cares about you, because I do, and life lives itself through me, just like it does you. Happy birthday for this new moon. May you set intentions propelling you to your dreams. I can still see the sparkles in your eyes saying there are many.

Luminous being, comme je t'aime ! (how could I not ?) 

Maman Car💚line