Staying Afloat

Nicole Johnson reflects on the challenge of letting go as her second child goes off to college.

It was eleven days and it was just the five of us: me, my husband, and our three kids. We flew six hours away from all that is familiar, put real life on pause, and blissfully assumed temporary residency on the Dutch-speaking island of Curaçao. We spent our mornings relaxing, our afternoons swimming and snorkeling, and our evenings over long family dinners. It was gluttony in every delicious form: eating, imbibing, and the glorious absorption of time together. My mama’s heart greedily drank in the presence of our children with the cautious understanding that this time was limited.

After taking in the awe-inspiring sights both above and below sea level, I’ve decided the only thing lacking in God’s creation is an adequate vocabulary to describe the depth of detail and magnificence of design. We explored seven different beaches, each one offering the luxurious turquoise waters one envisions when dreaming of an island escape. I was particularly fascinated with the crisp delineation between the shallow and deep waters. Like a child’s hastily drawn picture with no appreciation for the art of blending, there was no gradual shift. There was only light and dark. Shallow and deep. Where, on the surface of the water, the secrets beneath were only hinted at by this reckless jump on the color wheel, a glimpse below revealed a breathtaking and dramatic plunge in the ocean floor.

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It was both exciting and overwhelming. With one frog kick, you could go from the safety of clear sightlines of the ocean floor to the deep water hiding a multitude of secrets within the darkness. I admit I didn’t cross the line for long. In fact, I swam along it, straddling the comfortable with the uncomfortable. I’ve never been one to welcome the uncertain and tend to shy away from the unknown.

The end of August brings another huge shift in our family with our second child beginning college. This was the impetus for planning our trip. At 20 and 18 years of age, the lives of our two sons are, gratefully, full. With jobs and girlfriends and college, our time with them is limited at best. If I'm being completely honest, this trip was not planned entirely for their benefit, but was desperately needed for this mama’s heart to charge to full before I am forced to live the reality of their absence.

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Somehow, I’ve gone from packing diaper bags to packing for college, and it feels as though I could drown in the challenge of letting go. #catholicmom

Whether I like it or not, the current has swept me out to the line, and I unabashedly admit I am afraid of the drop-off. Somehow, I’ve gone from packing diaper bags to packing for college, and it feels as though I could drown in the challenge of letting go. There just wasn’t enough time in between, nothing gradual about their growth. It almost seems unfair, like someone pushed fast-forward without any appreciation for my preferred pace.

The memories are as vivid and diverse as the fish in the sea, and they flash before me with the regularity of the tides as I move between the comfort of the childhood years and the excitement of all that is to come. Much like the search for just the right words to capture the beauty of God’s physical creation, I find I can’t adequately describe the pull on my heart as these amazing beings I love so deeply need less and less of me.

It is only the promise of His presence from the horizon to the shore and every mile in between that will keep me afloat in these deep waters. The sweet memories of these eleven days will keep me anchored to the truth that change can in fact be beautiful and they will, God willing, always—always—come home.