Parenting with the end in mind.

I've said dozens of times, maybe more, that Eric parented with the end in mind.  After maybe the twentieth time of this post-Eric-passing proclamation, my tween-year-old Beatrice set her hands on her hips, looked me squarely in the eyes and said, "Why do you keep saying that?!?  What does that even mean?"  The last question came out slowly with an emphasis on each word.  I stopped, speechless and took in the whole package of rather unusual frustration that had been sent my direction.  And I actually stopped for a moment and retraced her words:     What    does    that     even    mean?

I guess I used the phrase in my own head as a comfort.  I still do.  It was an encouragement as I faced the tremendously daunting task of being a single and only parent.  I wanted his help even though he was gone and if I continued to say these words to anyone that would listen then maybe, just maybe, his help would be there for all those days and hours and moments when I needed it.  It was a big part of my parental shield from a world of hard things that I knew my kids and I would have to face without his support.

Eric was the better parent, it's true.  He wasn't perfect and he certainly had moments where he disappointed or frustrated me and the kids--like most human parents do. That being said, he was better.  When it came to the hard things, the big things, the life things, he was wise and he gave solid and meaningful direction.  Eric was the executive branch of our parenting and I handled the administration of it.  We were a good team.

2019 is holding lots of transitions for our family.  Simon started driving and has a job that allows him to have hoodies and sneakers shipped directly to our house with little or no input from me,  Henry is now a husband to a wonderful wife and is in the process of setting up a household of his own, and in less than a week Beatrice will start making a dorm room in northwest Iowa her home while she prepares for the next stage of her life. I get asked pretty often how I'm holding up and if I'm honest, I would actually say pretty good and not so great all at the same time--because I've found it's entirely possible for those feelings to live side by side.  The kids are doing well and mastering all the things that should be happening as they mature and ready themselves to go out into this world.  We feel the lack of their father in all of this, but we're also humbly aware that his parenting style while he was with us, is probably a big part of why these transitions are happening with a relatively comfortable ease--because, he parented with the end in mind.

On the night of Bea's graduation her fourth grade teacher showed up with a big box covered with what I'm going to call fourth grade graffiti--stickers and Crayola marker drawings.  The box contained time capsules that had been tucked away for 8 years.  Time capsules carefully put together by these students to be opened down the road by the graduate version of themselves.  Each of those time capsules contained letters from the students' parents.  Now there were plenty of parenting assignments over the years that Eric and I probably botched, but we managed to accomplish this one, although I don't have much memory of it.  The letters themselves reflected our differing parenting styles.  Mine was typed and retyped on a computer, in papyrus font with a little embellishment in each corner.  It was obvious that I had reworked it enough times to get it to read just how I wanted it.  Eric's letter was handwritten on yellow legal paper.  The style was much like a conversation with Eric, jumping from humorous to heavy and covering a lifetime of advice in two short pages.

He wrote about his favorite memories that he and Bea had shared.  Of how he remembered holding her as a baby, watching the Twin Towers fall and wondering how it would change her world. Of his desire for her to obey God's plan for her life, for her to marry someone wonderful, and to have kids that would change the world.  He said he loved her since he had known she existed, but her heavenly Father had known and loved her even longer.  I don't know that he would have written the letter much differently even if he had known that he wouldn't be around when she opened that envelope.  I even wonder if he wrote it thinking that he wouldn't be.  He definitely wrote it with the end in mind.

I think it's pretty natural for us to feel a little sad that Eric's health forced him to parent with his end in mind. But I have to ask myself, isn't parenting with the end in mind the way it should be? Isn't our job to make them not need our daily prompting and guidance. Can't we be okay with all our advice, direction and wisdom statements to end with a silent "because I might not always be there to tell you this"? I think we should be able to live with that. I think we should actually embrace that and use it as a way to empower our children to be their own, independent version of themselves.

For me, the end I find myself thinking about has to do with the duties and jobs of parenting. The end of driving you from point a to point b, the end of checking your assignments or the oil in your car, the end of paying for your gas and reminding you to say please and thank you, the end of being the first person you turn to at the end of a hard day.  The end of so many things that are healthiest if they do come to an end.

Maybe the end should be as much of the whole process as the beginning. Maybe there should be as many books by the side of our bed to guide us through the final stage of parenting as there was when we prepared to bring these small people into the world. Maybe the end needs to be the concluding celebration of one thing as we launch them to the next thing. Eric's style of parenting with the end in mind was not so much sad as it was a real gift to us. We benefit from it every day. It's a gift that any parent can give their child.

Parenting with the end in mind says my heart wants to hold on forever, but I trust you to do this on your own.  Parenting with the end in mind says it was always my plan to not always be here.  Parenting with the end in mind says it was always my plan to let you go.



I'm going to leave you with some of my favorite lines from Eric's letter to Beatrice.  It was good to hear his voice again.

The most important thing to me in this world is belonging to God both in life and in death. 
The most important person on this earth to me is your mother. 
But, the most important thing I have done is to raise the three of you.