Susan Senator

It’s Rosh HaShanah, literally “the head of the year,” the Jewish New Year. Ned’s company doesn’t seem to realize that this is one of the most important days of the year to Jews, and so they have scheduled some kind of big deal dinner. So that’s where he is.

I made Rosh HaShanah dinner for my boys and me: candles, juice in a wine glass, round challah (the circle of life, of course), and apples and honey. Baked potato and roast chicken. Nat said the prayers and Max tried to join in, but really Nat knows the Hebrew best. Ben just kept saying, “Mother, it is not January! The New Year is in January!” What a pill.

We went around the table and talked about what we would like the next year to bring for us. Ben wanted more healthpoints I think (gaming talk), and Max kind of said he hoped he’d do well in school, after I suggested that one. Jeez. I didn’t ask Nat. I don’t really know why. I just wanted him to have some peace, and us, too.

I had an amazing session in therapy today, where we talked a bit about 18-year-olds and the need to let your children leave, grow, explore, learn, make mistakes, all of those things. Through a thick haze of tears I listened to her tell me I was a devoted mother because I knew I might have to let him go and live somewhere else, where they could really help him and work on all of his marvelous skills. There, at the school’s residence, they would work on his IEP 24/7. Independent Living, all that, all day. He would begin to learn how to live among others, rather than just his loving, soft Mommy and his strong, wise Daddy. And his puppy brothers.

I don’t feel like a “devoted mother.” I feel like I failed, somehow. Like I was hired for a job that I was not qualified for. I had rushed in, persuaded all the powers that be that I was the one to be a mom on November 15, 1989, I wanted it, wanted it, wanted it. I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted someone who needed me.

So, along came Nat. You know the rest.

I was all wrung out from therapy, but full of a better understanding of what my role as Nat’s mom is or perhaps what it will be. It has never been what I thought it would be. It has been full of stark, raw surprise, a wide open hurting heart, low-level chronic depression, and explosions of sharp, pink joy. Loving Nat has been better exercise for my heart than all my running, biking, and dancing. And now my life with him is taking me past another huge milestone and into brand new territory. But it feels like a bit of a finish line, too. A passage. Perhaps we earned this, Nat and I.

I poured some of my emotional energy into following up on some articles I’d pitched here and there. And then I got an email from a New York Times Magazine editor asking if I would perhaps write a column for “Lives” about Nat.

I made some wishes as I blew out the holiday candles, the usual stuff about my loved ones, the basics. God already knows what I would ask for but I have found that it never hurts to reiterate.

L’Shanah Tovah