Bittersweet
Photo Courtesy | Jill Yancey
BY JILL YANCEY
Last year my family moved from Washington State to South Carolina, and last week we went back to visit for the first time since moving away. Our visit was filled with bittersweetness. On our last night in town, my children were heartbroken. “We want to move back. We miss everyone here.” My heart sank. I knew they’d feel this way, but still, I dreaded hearing it.
Have we taken a hundred steps back after such a long and painful year of growth?
I did not feel capable of dealing with four broken hearts all over again.
We swung by my oldest son’s best friend’s home. All of us cried as we said goodbye to him and his mom. After my son teared up telling them about the most awkward and crushing twelve-year-old boy moment he’d had on this trip, my friend (his second mom) gave him a piece of advice that changed everything for me.
To the best of my memory, this is what she said,
“Boss, I grew up here, and then moved away for ten years before moving back. I’ve kept some of the friends I’ve had from the time I was little. In fact, I’m still close with my childhood bestie, so I know how sweet it can be to hold on to those relationships. But, I also learned an important skill, and that’s how to let go. Not every friendship is meant to last our whole lives.”
She then added, “But not us. You’re not letting go of us!” and her son confirmed, “Yeah, we’re gonna be those kind of best friends, like my mom and hers.” My family said goodbye, and we drove back to Nana and Papa’s house for the night. I tucked my children into Nana’s quilts, and was gearing up for a long night of soothing, but the kids were no longer crying.
They were laughing and smiling. “Nana has the warmest quilts in the world!” They asked me to lay with them, so I did. As a mother, and especially as a Type Two on the Enneagram I feel EVERYTHING my children are feeling, so I can say with a certain amount of confidence that each of their hearts were light as we snuggled together under the quilts. We definitely were still going to miss our Washington people, and we were still working through the blow of seeing how much some friendships had changed, but we weren’t heavy, and I think it was because of my friend’s advice.
See, I am a hang-er on-er. I DO not let go. I keep ALL the friends, for all of time. I don’t throw away cards given to me by loved ones and I save every piece of art my children bring home. When we moved away, I promised my kids we’d come back to visit in exactly one year. “We will keep all of our old best friends and make new best friends too!” I was trying to teach my children how to move on, without ever showing them how to let go.
I’m 37 years old; I’ve grown up, left home, left a bad marriage, re-married, and moved a dozen times, but I am only now learning how to truly let go. I’m letting go of some expectations, big fears, and my children’s happiness. If you’re like me, then that last one — letting go of my children’s happiness — feels like the exact opposite of what a mother should do. But I’ve realized that part of growing up is learning how to make your own path, including your own path to happiness.
I tried to make friends for my kids when we moved here. I tried to take away their missing and their hurting, but of course that didn’t work. However, they did make friends . . . on their own, and they’ve had some of the best moments of their lives since moving here. They’ve also had some of the worst, but they’re learning how their own attitudes and thoughts can shift their moods, and get them through the hard days.
When we got back to South Carolina, life moved full speed ahead. The kids went to school the next day, and my second oldest came home telling us how much he loves school now, and that he no longer wants to switch classes. The girls have playdates lined up through October, and my oldest is thriving — in middle school of all places. The day after we got home, I took him to football practice and while I sat on the bleachers, a good friend came up to give me a hug, “Hey Mama,” she said. Her little girl asked when my girls can play. Her husband helped me get Boston’s chin strap hooked to his helmet, and her son said, “Miss Jill, can we have dinner at your house again?”
Boston walked onto the field and straight to a group of buddies from last year. One of the coaches who calls me Washington chatted me up after practice. The next night two of our family friends invited us to a cookout. Our children ran around in a pack the whole night. My friend who has felt like family from the minute I met her texts me, “I’m so glad you’re home, my sweet friend.” As I sat on the football bleachers looking at the Carolina sun set over the treeline, I let go of all my fear and worry from last year.
South Carolina feels a little more like home now, which means Washington feels a little less. I am still hanging on to the friends who fill me up — the people I can pick right back up with — the women who helped raise my babies. Washington is filled with my people, but I’m more okay with the friendships that have changed.
That night as I held my kids beneath Nana’s quilts they each seemed so little, and the next morning, less so. I promised that trip to our kids to show them we could hang on to Washington, but I am so grateful to the mother who was wise enough to teach us what that trip was really about. Life is not about turning sadness into happiness, it’s about learning to carry the sad alongside the happy. Learning about the peace that resides in the bittersweet.
As full-time mother to four kids, a published writer, and Community Manager for Tell(h)er Co, JILL YANCEY has learned to combine passion with parenthood. Most early mornings or late nights, she can be found writing in the fleeting quiet of her crowded-but-joyful South Carolina, USA home.
Her first novel, a careful examination of the mother-daughter relationships that have always captured her curiosity, is currently in production. She invites you to subscribe to Dear Writer, a monthly love letter to her fellow writers, and join in her #dailymemoir practice on Instagram @jillwritesabook
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