Years ago now, when my sister was pregnant with her oldest Reed, I got her a crib as my gift to her growing family. A few years later, the crib moved on to my niece June. A few years later, it came cross-state to my house for our oldest Owen. And over the last few years, it’s been home for my youngest Asa.
This past Sunday, I spent much of the day building a bunk bed. That night, Asa moved downstairs to his new room and bed with his brother. For the first time in over a decade, the crib was empty. And Sara and I were upstairs all alone.
In situations like this, I tend to look on the “bright” side. In this case, I focused on all the ways the change signals a great new era for our family: fewer middle-of-the-night wakeups, less of the day-to-day grind of keeping very young children alive, and more opportunity for the boys to play and bond (and entertain each other so we don’t have to quite so often). And we get a whole room of our house back.
Sara tends to spend more time feeling the sadness of the change. In this case, we have to say goodbye to a crib that holds so many beautiful memories. We will never read them goodnight books in that familiar old rocking chair. No matter how you dress it up, we must say goodbye to a profoundly meaningful part of our lives.
For years, Sara’s sadness in these moments felt like a drag to me. I just wanted to be in the sense of hope and opportunity of the new chapter, not wallow in the past.
But somehow this time, something shifted.
It dawned on me that, for much of my life, I’ve just been papering over the more difficult feelings that come up for me, especially sadness. I move on as quickly as I can so I don’t have to deal with the pain or discomfort. Looking on the “bright” side is largely just a way to protect myself.
Somehow, Sara’s way feels so much healthier now. Those feelings are part of what makes me human. They are a natural, inevitable, and necessary part of existence. They actually have something important to tell me.
If I can’t fully feel the sadness – and whatever other feelings come along with this change – then I can’t fully acknowledge and honor this beautiful, momentous chapter of my life. I can’t offer it the proper goodbye that it so deserves.
