On Edge and Overjoyed

 "I'm headed for Montana. I'm going to hike the National Glacier Park. It's something I've always wanted to do." My 24 yr old son Chris excitedly revealed in his weekly update phone call to me. 

"Wait. What?" I replied in a state of disbelief.

Did I hear him right? If this was a long-time dream, how come this is the first I am hearing about it? Shouldn't a mother intuitively know their children's hopes and dreams? Why was I left out of this vital loop? I didn't even know that he hiked. Where had I been all this time? 

  My brain shut off within seconds of hearing his news, leaving me in a foggy haze. I "space out," not fully listening or comprehending what he told me. His words became muffled and garbled, as if he was speaking underwater. When I returned my focus to the conversation, my thoughts raced about and were instantly replaced with every bad-case scenario such a trip could bring. Especially being a solo hiker on such an epic adventure. 

The graphic visualizations of grizzly bear attacks on unsuspecting hikers, a hungry mountain lion crossing his path, getting injured on a trail without cell phone service, and getting lost in an isolated region flooded my thinking. Would there be snakes? Every news story I had encountered (as rare as they may be) that ever ended badly with a hiker somewhere in the world suddenly resurfaced to the forefront of my brain. And with them, every cautionary tale and survival tip that Bear Grylls or some other adventurer might have warned their audience about. Let someone know where you are going and your plans... make sure you have adequate food and water on hand for an emergency... let someone know your estimated time of arrival back...bring your bear spray...take a first aid kit.. learn how to forage for food...what essential hiking gear to pack, and if stranded, be prepared to drink your own urine! 

Despite my anxiety, insecurities, and ignorance about hiking Glacier National Park's remote territories, I didn't want my fears to inhibit his journey or dampen his enthusiasm. So I did what any mother would do. I hid them with favorable reactions of excitement like, "Wow, that's amazing!" and "Fantastic!" Yes, I was happy for him, but I was also scared. 

By nature, I am not a doom-and-gloom person or a helicopter parent. I have always taught my children to explore the world and live out their dreams. My son had traveled abroad with me to several countries as a boy, had flown overseas alone as an unaccompanied minor to stay with his father, attended college in the Midwest while I was on the East Coast, and been an intern working in several other states from when he was a freshman/sophomore. He pursued his career aspirations at full throttle - with great speed and enthusiasm. Finding roommates, he moved into an apartment that was an easy commute to downtown Manhattan where he would work. In doing so, Chris achieved something that scares even the most tenacious - living and working in "The Big Apple" independently. He did it - off his own back and through persistent hard work. As the song says, If you can "make it there, you can make it anywhere." This proved true, and Chris' dedication to his work resulted in a fantastic opportunity to transfer to his employer's HQ on the West Coast. Chris dove in to accept the challenge without hesitation. Once again, moving to another state.

 Chris has always shown intelligence, independence, reliability, perseverance, and, most of all, common sense. He wasn't a person who acted impulsively or carelessly. So why was I upset and taking this news as something other than exciting and an excellent opportunity for him? Did the protective mama persona have to kick in? Parents always fear their child will get hurt in an accident. Still, here I was, unable to shake that worry even though he was now an adult and capable of looking after himself.

 Moreover, I had been an empty nester for years, so why did I suddenly feel I was losing him again? By compartmentalizing my emotions temporarily, putting the motherly worries aside, and focusing on Chris, I could see that he was revealing himself to me and wanting to share aspects of his life. What more could a mother ask for? He included me in his hopes, dreams, plans, and daily activities. Everything that excited and made him happy. The fact that I was the first person he phoned to tell, was very special.

 I watched Chris blossom from a timid small boy to an adventurous young man ready to take on the world. The early formative years must have been difficult for him. Born and raised in the UK, Chris moved to the US with me after his father and I divorced. Everything that could happen was thrown at him at twelve years of age. The physical and emotional upheavals of a transatlantic move on a child of Chris' age were arduous. Leaving everything familiar behind, including family members, was a choice most children never have to consider. I constantly feared I had failed him as a mother and questioned whether I had made the right choices for us. 

 Moving from the big city energy of London to the isolated, quiet ruralness of western, upstate NY was about as far away as you could get from "Blighty." Double-decker buses were replaced by tractors. Stiff, rigid, and austere school uniforms were changed to blue jeans, flannel shirts, and sneakers. The ever-present threat of NY snow storms and blizzards now meant owning a cumbersome winter coat and heavy boots, which replaced the British rain "brolly." 

Attending an American school came with its differences as well. Gone were the GCSE and A Level subjects and exams. Moving to NY State meant taking different academic courses aligned with the Regents and AP college-level exams that earned higher education credits. 

  Instead of taking public transport to school, it was now the iconic big yellow American school bus. But most of all, there was the loneliness of not having your best "mates" to talk and joke around with and now having to make new friends at an awkward age. Somehow, Chris navigated it all and took it in his stride. Everything seemed to be a challenge he embraced. Upon moving to our new home, he commented on how our small village looked like something out of a movie set. The quintessential small-town "hominess," I suppose. I saw life through a different set of lenses, all because Chris introduced me to new views and outlooks, and for that, I am thankful.

In the coming weeks before his departure for Montana, Chris shared, at length, his plans for hiking a particular trail area, how he would rent a car from the airport, stay at an AirB&B, drive the three hours from his lodgings to the park entrance in the early hours of the morning before the sun came up. He provided details of how he had the required passes purchased to enter the Park and all the bookings and pieces he had in place. This was well thought out. Everything had been mapped out, researched, and planned meticulously. I needn't have worried. He had this.

 Chris was looking forward to seeing the scenic outdoor beauty that Montana offered and was famously known for. The magical crystal clear turquoise blue lakes, the glacier-carved rocky peaks, and craggy mountains, cloud-filled skies stretching across the horizon that appear to go on forever, stunning waterfalls...lush, green forests with pine, fir, and cedar trees that filled your nose with earthy fragrance intensity, and the alpine meadows covered in the colorful hues of purple asters, Glacier lilies, beargrass, daisies, lupine and variations of blooming heathers. Then, when night falls, the sky is covered in a blanket of twinkling stars to close out a magical day. 

It did, indeed, sound like heaven on Earth. As my son continued to describe Glacier National Park with all the imagery, I started researching it myself. My quest to learn more about Montana revealed photographs of some of the most stunning landscapes I had ever seen. The images instantly took me back to when I was in junior high school and could pick out my own back-to-school supplies. The Mead Trapper Keeper folders were my favorite. All of mine had the same type of nature photography on the covers. They transported me to that magical place with mountains, lakes, forest greenery, and wildflowers. I could see why Chris would want to go. Working in a career desk job, this was an extraordinary, life-changing trip for him. One that transported him to another place unlike any he had ever known or experienced. It begged him to use all his senses, to breathe the fresh air, witness the incredible beauty of nature and wildlife, physically challenge his body to interact with the elements and keep his wits about him throughout. The more he indulged me in his plans, the more I envied his choice of retreat and wondered if I might ever visit this glorious place on my own one day.

 Plans to go kayaking over fast-flowing rapids was an activity he had scheduled for the days to follow after his hiking. He was clearly ready for an exhilarating adventure braving all the elements. Paddling to navigate against the rough current may not be my idea of fun, but I give him credit for having the guts to try it. Nothing is worse than having regrets about the activities one doesn't participate in. The "could've, would've, should've." Chris would indeed have stories to one day tell his children and grandchildren. 

 Horseback riding with a guide was the last big event on his journey. Riding through dirt trails, crossing streams, and getting knee-deep in the water... he would find out what it was like to ride a horse for the first time in his life and feel the exhilarating thrill of galloping in the open fields. Something I have always wanted to do for most of my life. I envied him.

 I grew excited and genuinely happy for Chris. My fears were irrational. The inner turmoil was about realizing that my little boy had become a man and didn't need me to shelter, protect, or plan for him anymore. I wondered if my fears related to missing the old Chris - as a boy or if I longed to be who I was when he was young. As a mother, I was needed and was at his side throughout. Now he was branching off on his own. Discovering who he is and what he loves, independent of me. The way it's supposed to happen. To love your children is to support them "leaving the nest" and fly solo.

  I am now the person stepping aside to hear his adventures. The ones he is making on his own. Despite my initial worry, I discovered something about myself - a new realization that had always been there. It is said that there are two gifts we should give our children; one is roots, and the other is wings. If this is true, I have done my job well.