Sometimes karma is lovely

A few weeks ago, we had this short but wonderful pocket of time right before our oldest son’s college graduation. For four days, we had all three of our big kids home. After  graduation, two of the three of them would scatter in opposite directions — the graduate to his new job in a different city, and his younger brother on a flight to California for a summer internship. 

One night after having dinner out, the kids decided to huddle upstairs and play the old video games they loved as kids. So Tom and I stayed downstairs to watch a detective show called Will Trent, one of our favorites. I felt exquisitely happy because our house was once again full of kids, dogs, and a cat, just like old times. 

Suddenly we heard what sounded like a horse hurriedly clomping down the stairs. Our middle son, Jack, skidded into the living room. 

Jack: “Everything okay?”

Me: “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

Jack: “We heard you guys yell.”

Tom: “We were yelling at the TV. The bad guy was about to shoot the good guy, but then out of nowhere the bad guy got hit by a car. We were just cheering.”

Jack: “Oh. It sounded like something happened.”

Me: “And you came down here to make sure we were okay? Awwwww. That’s so sweet.”

With the imaginary crisis averted, Jack bounded back upstairs, and we heard him report back to his siblings: “They’re just yelling at the TV.” Then their Mario Kart tournament resumed.

Tom and I laughed about it and kept watching the show, but that scene in our living room has stayed in my mind — a full-circle moment that marks a shift in our family dynamics.

For the past 23 years, Tom and I were the ones who were racing up or down the stairs to investigate loud noises or an unexpected yell. We were the ones on constant alert for any sign of trouble. 

And even though the boys grew taller than both of us and the “baby girl” got old enough to go to college like her brothers, we still feel the same hard-wired sense of hypervigilance we did when they were newborns. Are they safe? Are they healthy? Will they be okay? From the moment that pregnancy test stick showed positive, our own well-being has been intricately woven into theirs. 

And now I’m realizing this electrical current of care and safeguarding flows both ways. They’re old enough now to know that parents, who seem so strong and stable when you’re a kid, sometimes need help, too. No one is impervious to time and circumstance.

So now they’ll check on us, just as we check on them. And they’ll be relieved when they realize their middle-aged mom and dad are just yelling at the television like a couple of lunatics. No one is having a heart attack or breaking a hip, at least not today. 

If I could, I’d send a message back through time to my younger self — the frazzled, sleep-deprived mother who was trying so hard to do things right and beating herself up for every misstep. I’d tell her that all the work and worry is worth it and that, one day when you least expect it, all that love and care you pour into your kids will circle back around to envelop you, too. 

Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her book is available on Amazon.