Parents' Weekend

I thought I'd probably get through this Junior Parents' Weekend pretty unremarkably, but the truth is, I am terribly sad.  My son's anger fades into the background as I imagine how much I would have enjoyed seeing him, and sharing some of his college life for the weekend.


I have not heard from him since January 6, when I dropped him off at the airport.  Nothing was said.  No harsh words, a brief hug.


The other sad but all too human part of this tragedy is that there is no family member that would understand, respect, or commiserate with what is happening here.  I have tried to explain why I need to let Nik have his space, and why I can't just continue to insert myself into his life.  Years of phone calls, cajoled or coerced, more often strained than enjoyed.


It was a shock to me last spring when I first saw the anger erupt, unexpectedly.  Not the kind of predictable anger that comes from disagreements or misunderstandings of varying sizes and import that are natural in a family.  But the kind of anger that erupts after an innocent comment or question, the kind of explosive and unpredictable anger that drove me away from his father, that I had not ever experienced from my son.


And in our subsequent short visits, the anger blossomed.  Vague issues about my parenting were hurled at me, my defenses as strained and strange as the accusations.  What are we arguing about?  I have no idea.  But it seems as though the new friendship between the sibs has been partly inspired by this common anger.


So when the subject of parents' weekend came up in January, and was met by ambivalence, and then cold comments about time constraints, I had to rethink my relationship with my son.  Could I continue to expect him to want me around, to want to have those weekly calls, and wasn't it wrong to expect him, at age 20, to continue to see me as the family, the home, he returns to?


I left the door open.  He chose not to approach.  I miss him, but I also remember the anger, that was too much like his father's, and know I can't deal with it rationally, because I can't address it, because I can't understand it.


Will he come home at the end of the school year for his short visit?  If I mention it to his father, as we plan for his twice-yearly visit, will he take advantage of the situation to instead make plans with his son away from me -- dueling parents, I call it, a duet I despise.


My sisters will be critical, my daughter judgmental as well.


So here I am, on Junior Parents' Weekend, a beautiful day in Charleston, letting a few tears fly, wishing we all didn't make it so damned difficult to love each other.