A River Runs

The currents of life

My son around age 8 at the Middle Fork of the American River

My son who is 18 moved out yesterday and now I have no children living at home. I have, as they say, an empty nest, which is a phrase I hate. I’ve heard it called “bird launching” instead, which I guess is better, but it still doesn’t resonate. I told my son, “your life is more and more your own now, and I hope you have an interesting one.”

I have many memories of taking my kids to the river in the summer and watching them swim. At first, when they were small we just waded in the American River, and if there was a current, I held their hand. Later, they swam away from the shore at Lake Clementine and jumped off a large rock while I held my breath, searching for their heads to pop back up. Often I debated how far to let them go. You want them to be safe, but also experience the world. You pretend to be chill about the whole thing, while your heart races.

All along I was aware that I can only be with them to a certain point and I can only teach them so much. In high school they began going to the lakes and rivers by themselves. You worry, and hear terrible stories, but want them to have fun with their friends. You say: be careful please.

My beautiful, smart, creative boy is in the river now and I have to let go of his hand. Even if there’s a current. Even if the water is cold and he’s not wearing a life jacket. Even if it scares me. You tell yourself this is the way it works.

He’s on his way, flowing over the ancient rocks and branches, deep within the canyon walls. He has a raft and tools, but his destination is unknow and he guides himself. Another mother carries him now.

You have to step out of the water and take your place on the sandbar. Did you show him enough? It’s hard to know.

If you had another 18 years you could show him everything.

Eventually all things merge into one and a river runs through it. - Norman Maclean