Growing bonsai

My son came home this weekend to vote. We voted in different primaries, but I’m proud that he cared enough to drive three hours to make his voice count. He voted for good people who happen to be on the other side of the aisle from the good people I voted for this time.

We talked politics for hours while he was here. I have two kids who decided to pursue majors and careers in politics, and in our family, we spend hours debating issues, candidates, and policies.

We sometimes agree to disagree. We refuse to be divided or to believe the worst about those who see things differently. We agree that the extremes on both sides are what cause most of the problems in our country.

Sometimes we get philosophical. This weekend, we discussed existential topics. Logotherapy: a person’s need do something significant, to love deeply, and to find purpose in pain.

David may never read Viktor Frankl’s book “Man’s Search for Meaning” or study logotherapy. But he will likely live into it and experience it when he’s older. If we live long enough, our lives present difficult chapters, and we will try to find meaning.

My husband and I are in a difficult chapter. In just a few months, both of our children will be college graduates. We are now entering whatever stage comes after the empty nest stage.

Our four parents are still living. We don’t take that gift for granted, but it isn’t easy.

Dan’s dad and my mom are both struggling with dementia, physical ailments, and a longing for heaven. In the meantime, Dan’s mom and my dad are caring for their spouses with patience, love, and devotion that is deeper than anything they could have imagined when they exchanged their marriage vows.

We value the dignity and worth of our parents’ lives at this stage. Their lives are still a gift, even though they may not feel that way. As we wait with them for whatever comes next, we hold on to God’s promises. There is something holy and sacred in the waiting. We would never want to prolong their suffering. But we also would not fast-forward a chapter that seems to have much to teach us.

Being sandwiched between young adult children on the cusp of everything life has to offer, and aging parents at the end of their days, has stirred up something in me I cannot explain.

I sometimes think of the line from the musical, Hamilton, that says, “Why do you write like you’re running out of time?”

I feel like I am running out of time. I write like it. I live like it. I eat, sleep, and breathe like it. I cannot slow down. I do not want to slow down. The way I cope is by doing more.

Mortality feels more real than it ever has, and it is because I am simultaneously watching our children and our parents live their beginnings and their endings.

Where does that leave Dan and me?

But back to my son’s visit this weekend. Politics kept coming back up. We wondered what would happen on Tuesday after the primary, and in November after the general election. Will things get better?

Sometimes I don’t know what feels heavier – what is happening with our parents, or what is happening with the world.

David told me his plans to backpack in Italy alone for three weeks this summer after he graduates.

I told him the things I want to do, too.

I know it sounds crazy, and I imagine something different every week.

“I want to move to the Rio Grande Valley and immerse myself in the culture and language and find meaningful ways to help immigrants,” I told him.

“Or I want to work for the Builder’s Movement and travel the country helping people navigate political discord.”

“Or I want to work on a campaign for a candidate I truly believe in.”

“I want to merge my love of writing, teaching, counseling, and influencing people within systems. I want to help fix what’s broken. I want to make a bigger difference on a larger scale.”

David told me that when I talk this way, it sometimes seems like I am unfulfilled. And he doesn’t know why I would be, because he hopes his life will turn out like ours. He said his dad and I are living out his dreams for the future.

“You both make a difference in individual lives,” he said. “You live in a beautiful small town, with a decent cost of living, with friends and community involvement that you both love. Why would you want to do anything different?”

I reassured him that I am not unfulfilled. I love my life. My work with my clients is deeply meaningful to me, and I treasure the time I spend with them. I am grateful beyond words for my work, my town, and my life.

And yet … my imagination often works overtime envisioning ways I could help more people, and have a greater impact. And it feels like time is running out.

What am I doing with my one wild and precious life? Am I doing enough?

Finally, David and I wrapped up that conversation. I promised I’m going to be the same mom I’ve always been, doing the same reliable, predictable things I’ve always done. Living in the same house where he was born and raised. Coloring inside the lines.

He reassured me that he won’t take his youth and his opportunities for granted.

Before he left, he asked me to help him find some pine saplings for a friend in College Station who trains them into bonsai trees.

I had my doubts that a pine tree from the woods of East Texas could be trained into a bonsai. But David assured me that they can. “It just takes several years,” he said.

He said he has seen some bonsai trees “in progress” at his friend’s house, as proof.

So, we drove to the back of our neighborhood and asked a lady with some woods behind her house if we could go in with a shovel and dig out a few saplings. She kindly obliged, and we found three small pines that we dug up and wrapped in wet newspaper and trash bags for his three-hour drive back to College Station.

As I wrapped those pine trees, I spoke to them softly, where only they could hear.

“Grow well, little trees,” I said. “Don’t forget where you came from.”

A little while later, I stood on our steps and watched my son’s taillights fade into the night, with those three saplings riding in the back of the truck.

I went inside and googled, “Can a pine tree become a bonsai?”

It can.

Sometimes life will twist and turn and bend one into something wholly different than what it once was.

But it’s still the same tree, no matter how or where it grows.

* The photo for this post came from: https://www.thespruce.com/growing-pine-bonsai-5085311