My daughter graduated. And it happened on the Solemnity of the Ascension. While most dioceses transfer this Solemnity to Sunday, in Boston, where we were, this feast is celebrated precisely 40 days after Jesus’ resurrection.
The Ascension – His departure – was inevitable. Jesus warns the Apostles of His imminent departure and tells Mary Magdalene, “…Stop holding onto me…” (John 20:17).
As Jesus ascended, the apostles looked intently at the sky. Two men dressed in white garments appeared, asking, “... why are you standing there looking at the sky?” (Acts 1:1-11). They were looking because now what? He was everything to them. Lost and forlorn, they must have felt.
It was ordained. How else would His work be completed? He belongs not just to the 12 but to all. Though He’s leaving, He is gentle with us along the way. And He gives us lots of practice.
My daughter received a graduate degree, so I’ve had lots of practice with her growing up.
There was the first day of Kindergarten when I wondered, how in the world will she know to get off the bus at her stop? Then milestones like middle school, high school, college, etc., the house feeling more and more empty each time she departed. (Except for her stuff. Her stuff stays with me forever because she never takes it with her.)
She comes back home less and less, but when she does, it’s like old times – but not really, because her home now is a different place.
Where we are was never Jesus’ home. Every year, over the many Ascension Solemnities, I’ve tried to remove the ‘bitter’ from the word bittersweet. Children’s stages unfold over time, leaving room only for my reaction. What’s it gonna be?
On the other hand, with the Solemnity, I’ve actively tried chopping away at the ‘bitter’.
If He doesn’t ascend, then the Advocate – the Spirit of truth – can’t come. Okay fine. If He doesn’t ascend, then He can’t prepare a place for us. Sure.
Then last Sunday, the priest said, “Where the head goes, the body will follow.” Sounds good.
Knowing that Christ is the head and the body is the Church, I sigh with an acceptance. By now, I’ve kicked at the letters in ‘bitter’ enough, so that, like teeth, some characters have fallen out, leaving me with ‘bi t sweet.’
Our children are born to us but they are not ours. They grace your life, leave you better, then fly to their own homes, their proper places in the world. I imagined the ‘off-the-payroll’ stage would feel better than this (about payroll, they’re never off the phone plan, or car insurance, or streaming services – those appear permanent). This joyful acceptance comes with a tinge of melancholy.
In Denise Trull’s excellent essay on the Ascension and children growing, she says,
“That part of mothering is over. You mourn it, because it will not return. Another mothering will now have room to grow--for being a mother never ends. It just had to wait until you accepted the loss of one phase to take up the next.”
Motherhood carries a poignancy similar to that of the Ascension. The acceptance of its ‘bi t sweet’ leads to the next phase -- the joy of Pentecost.
We get to enjoy many seasons in life with our kids. We get to enjoy each one before we let it go. Definitely bittersweet:-(
Your are so right, mothering never ends, and then you find yourself mentoring and mothering other young people who need your wisdom and life experience. Isn’t that lovely!