Gathering Days
I shared an earlier version of this poem on Substack over a year ago.
This was the introduction:
I wrote this poem several years ago, when all three of my children were still attending the same school, all still living at home.
It’s been an enjoyable summer having them all together again, knowing that soon, classes will begin …
… my oldest will be heading back to a college 2,200 miles away …
… the middle child will be home a little longer helping my husband at his workplace and gearing up for the next life stage …
…. my youngest will be starting 10th grade …
A few things have changed since then:
The oldest is now in her fourth year of college, still a couple thousand miles away. She was home for a week during the summer, a surprise visit in July that her brothers hadn’t even suspected. That was fun.
The middle child, whose college is on a quarter system instead of the semesters I’m accustomed to, is already dealing with his first round of finals and exams in his first year at a small college in northern Idaho.
And the youngest, now taller than me (and possibly taller than his older brother, too) has 11th grade well underway.
A lot has changed since they were young:
Back when we lived in a little two-bedroom apartment—the three kids sharing a single room—the youngest and I had a little school morning tradition.
My daughter would have been in third grade at that time, and my older son in first grade. My husband would drive them to school and then head to work.
So, the youngest and I would step out on the second-floor balcony in the morning after saying goodbye at the front door, waiting to wave to his older sister and brother one last time as the car came into sight on the way to school.
I would hoist my two-year-old up into my arms and we would watch the cars whizz past until there it was, a dark teal Hyundai, pulling out onto the main road.
I would balance him against my hip to free a hand so I could wave. The older two knew to look for us and would wave back as the car passed and headed world-ward.
After that short time, I was often the one driving them to school. For years, I taught at the same school, and so we would head into the world together.
But now, once more, it is my husband who usually drives the one boy remaining at home off to school. The other two are a little further afield.
Once more, they are off gathering days.
Gathering Days
Off they go gathering days
in their pockets like so many treasured finds,
dandelion wands and stones that speak magic,
leaves fallen from trees, carefully retrieved
and shells that might have formed
in another world or another time.
But now it's days they gather
that blend into each other like magic
that can't be undone
and as you kiss your son
goodbye one morning you find
he is almost as tall as you, and your daughter
has begun to borrow your clothes,
and the youngest (whose curiosity has held
so many questions) now asks those
to which you have no answer.
As they head out the door for another day
you want to tell them everything
they will ever need to know if only
you knew it yourself. Instead you plant
a kiss on a forehead, a cheek, and say
“I love you” as you watch them step out
to gather up another day, hoping they will keep
it carefully tucked in pockets, hold it
as tightly as you would hold them, for
a little too long, never quite ready to let go.
🥰
A lovely description of the experience of parenting.