Sam

I learned today that my younger son, Sam, is moving to Portland, Oregon, on Monday. I learned indirectly from my older son Ben, who posted on his Facebook wall: “my brother is moving out to Portland in a week, daaaammnnn.”

Good morning.

Sam called me about four hours later, relieved to learn that I now knew. We spent the next two and a half hours together running errands related to his moving: shipping off his computer, having his bike boxed for shipping, signing over his car to me, talking through the various small pieces of the big move. There were tense moments, funny moments, and many moments where I was too choked up to speak.

I am sitting here twelve hours later with a mother’s conflicting feelings. On the one hand, Sam is almost 19, has been working fulltime since he was 17, and has been out of the home and living on his own with little parental help for the past six months. Moving to Portland seems the natural next step: spread the wings yet a little more and try something new. Ben lives there and their father is in an outlying community. Initially Sam would live with his dad. So it is not as if Sam would be totally alone and without a family network. It was clear from Sam’s discussion today that he has given a huge amount of thought to the logistics of living with his dad and finding work. I am pleased and proud of him.

On the other hand, besides the sting of learning about Sam’s move secondhand, I am sad and dispirited tonight. My younger son—my baby!—is moving 2500 miles away.

In some versions of A Christmas Carol, Marley describes the third spirit to Scrooge as “more mercurial than the rest.” That is Sam in five words. A million and one memories of Sam have filled my mind and my heart all day long. I have watched my son struggle with wild mood swings, his parents’ divorce, and depression. At times he has made lifestyle choices, including dropping out of high school and getting a GED, that have made me cringe. But each time he has struggled, Sam has come back stronger and wiser and another step closer to adulthood. When he moved out of the house and into an apartment last October, I told everyone I knew that he had made a smoother transition to being independent than anyone else I had ever known. He was ready then and he is ready now for the next step.

When Sam was in 7th grade, he went out for track and ran hurdles. Sam was slender and fast with great form, and he usually led and won his heats. Once he caught a hurdle and went down, only to get up, bloodied and clearly hurt, to finish the race. Afterwards, Sam sat alone for the rest of the meet, full of pain and rage, fighting back tears. Not until we were walking to the car did he lean against me and cry. That is Sam: finishing the race, struggling on his own, and then turning to his family for comfort.

Come Monday, I will take Sam to the airport, hug him goodbye, and wave until he disappears down the concourse. There will be tears, of course. There will also be satisfaction in knowing he is prepared to tackle this new adventure.

I have seen Sam fly over hurdles when he ran track. I see him flying now.