When you reach for my hand,
I pull it away.
I shrug my shoulders,
when you ask about my day.
I refuse your hugs
when my friends might see,
and I won’t let you walk
too close to me.
But no matter where I am,
or how tall I grow,
I will always love you—
Even though
I don’t let it show.
I don’t let it show.
-Linda Kulp Trout
I hadn't planned to post anything today, but something has been on my mind. A couple of weeks ago, while crossing a parking lot, I reached for my seven year old grandson's hand. For the first time, he pushed my hand away. A clear sign he's becoming more independent.
It brought back memories of my own sons. I still remember standing outside my son's first grade classroom. I reached to hug him, and he pulled away. I tried to hide the sting in my heart as he walked through the door.
Watching my sons grow up was bittersweet. I was proud of their independence, and yet, it was so hard to let them go. My sons are grown, and although I miss my little boys, I love the men they have become. And I've come to realize that they have never really let go. They just hold on in a different way now.
My grandchildren are becoming more and more independent. I know how hard this is for my daughter-in-law so this poem is for her.
Be sure to visit Liz at Elizabeth Steinglass for this week's Roundup.
