When I was a freshman in college, my brother was only eight years old. While I was living the high life of newfound freedom and enjoying the other heady elixirs of campus life, he was home missing me. Every once in awhile, a package would arrive from home with goodies to remind me that there were people not that far away who were missing me and wishing me the best of luck and all those other things that families wish. Each package would always contain something homemade from my mom, news clippings from our local paper from my dad, and a handmade map from my little brother showing me the way home.

I know. Sweet, right? And I have to tell you I carried those maps with me for years as I moved to Delaware and then Maine and then Maryland. They were a kind of talisman for me as I traveled through my unsettled years. They were literally calling me home, but they also provided me with that sure-footed confidence I needed to move me through uncharted territory. I had proof positive of a safety net and way back to where I was most comfortable. I was going to be A-OK. Bring it on, life, I was ready for it all.

I wish I had one of Jonathan’s maps right now. My oldest is a senior in high school. We are making plans and talking constantly about all that awesomeness that lies just over the horizon of our family for him. I really want to cherish these conversations. I can see the sand in the hourglass of our time with this easy access to each other running out, and I am anxious to impart nuggets of wisdom while it’s still my place to do so.  But the truth is that senior year is busy and we don’t have much time for the cherishing.

We have now piled senior nights and college applications on top of our regularly jam-packed schedule of soccer games and work and schoolwork. These conversations are happening in the place between practices and playoffs and all the other preparations. Sometimes we connect beautifully and our conversations flow easily. These are the moments where I overflow with hope and optimism, with my love for him, and with excitement for the next year and I think “He’s a great kid. I’m a great mom. This is a great talk.”

But just as often, things don’t go so well. I think I am reminding him to turn in an important piece of paper without realizing I just launched a bombshell. Suddenly, we are both emotional and needy, our conversations fraught and unproductive.  These are the moments where I start to hyperventilate, stress, and panic about the future not just for him but for both of us. “He’s a mess. I’ve failed him. How the heck are we gonna get any of this done when he won’t even turn in papers on time?”

In a nutshell, our talks this year warm my heart or scare the bejeesus out of me and there’s really no middle place.  Once when I was in high school, I walked right off a trail near my house. I didn’t notice until I was so far gone from where I was supposed to be that I was deep holy-crap-how-am-I-gonna-get-myself-out-of-this-mess lost. The simultaneous and conflicting emotions of exhilaration and terror remind me of where I am right now. I remember that feeling of wanting to stay planted in place and that need to just keep placing one foot in front of the other to get me back to where I was supposed to be.

So I wish there was a map for this. I know some great resources and have found some good friends to turn to when I need answers to questions, but that’s not what I’m looking for. What I yearn for is that perfect compass that will not only  guide our passage through this place, but keep us in one piece as we make the journey. My worst fear of course is that he will slip away from me, from all of us, and that our family will never resemble the thing I love and cherish so much just as it is today.

But I am not willing to fold to fears. We are a people wide open to possibilities even in the face of misgivings and second guesses, and I am honoring our open minds and hearts. There will be no map for me for the next few months, nothing tangible to hold other than each other, but we are going to chart this course together. We are going to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

We are going to explore this place between.

-Erin

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