Week 02/2025: Sadness settles in
Sadness settles in
Week of 6 January 2025
The first full week of 2025. It was . . . challenging.
The story of moving out
The story begins when Kramstable said he wanted to live in Melbourne. He first mentioned this a few years ago but that’s all I knew. Some vague future plan.
Things started becoming more concrete as he moved through college and started to talk about what he wanted to do once he finished school. The course he wanted to do wasn’t offered in Tasmania but was available at several mainland universities, with one in particular being his preference. It still seemed a long way off.
Fast forward to the end of 2024.
Kramstable got his final year 12 results in the middle of December, including an ATAR which was well within the ballpark for offers for his first preference course. (Don’t ask me to explain TESs and ATARs. We didn’t have that when I did year 12 and the system is completely different. All you need to know is the ATAR is a rank based on a particular combination of the scores you get in relevant year 11 and 12 subjects, and the universities use it to decide who they will offer places to in each course.)
I wasn’t surprised. His internal marks leading up to the external assessments were excellent, and his teachers were very confident he’d do well. I think he even did better than he’ad expected, and in one of his subjects he got the maximum possible score, which was awesome!
And the very next week, the uni offers came out.
Excitingly for him, he was offered a place in his first preference course at his first preference uni.
Super exciting, and ohhhhhhhh my goodness, my young human will be leaving home in less than two months . . .
Two. Months.
I’m not taking ANYTHING away from him because this is his dream. It’s what he’s worked for, and he absolutely has to do it (unlike his mother who was influenced out of doing the course she really wanted to do in favour of a course she wasn’t a good fit for, and who then dropped out and ended up drifting for 30 years, still not knowing what she wants to do . . .)
I’m happy for him. If I were in his place I’d be doing the same thing. (Except I didn’t.)
But I’m not in his place. I’m in mine, and I am devastated.
I have so many feelings around this, but the biggest, the most influential, is grief.
Alongside this however, is acknowledging that I can feel more than one thing at the same time. I can be excited for Kramstable and the opportunities he has; I can be nostalgic about my own post-year 12 life . . .; along with this intense, painful grief that is tearing my heart apart.
But also . . .
I can also feel curious about the opportunities I might uncover when the final threads of regular responsibility for my adult human young person are severed. (And, then I can feel guilty for feeling like this because I should be feeling sad and feeling anything optimistic for myself is betraying the part of me that is grieving. Right? Yeah, thanks, inner voice, that one isn’t helpful.)
It’s a lot going on in my head, without all the other normal every day stuff going on as well.
How do I sleep at night?
Not very well, thanks for asking.
It hurts so much.
Of course, I’m not losing him. He’ll be alive and well. I know this. But he won’t be here, close to me, a place he’s been for the past 19 years (I’m counting the in utero year as well). This is a major, major transition, one I was not prepared for.
However, to be fair I don’t think I’d have been prepared for it at any time. I wasn’t ‘ready’ for him to arrive into my life, and I’m not ‘ready’ for him to leave home. But really, who ever is ready for the things that change their lives? They happen and we deal with them.
But dealing is hard and it’s painful.
Life with a young person is a series of events that inevitably move them further from you and closer to their independence. The day school drop-offs stop, catching the bus alone, the leavers assemblies, the end of school excursions and the last day you do parent help. Getting a YouTube account, learning to cook and do washing, getting a job, buying their own clothes, getting a learner’s permit (and, ultimately, a driver licence). I did them too (well, except for the YouTube account). And all parents experience these closures. They are necessary.
They’re necessary, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
And there’s another thing.
I thought I’d have more time with him, more conversations, a different relationship with him as an adult, discussing our common interests in greater depth. I’ll have that to some degree but it won’t be the same as if he were still here. So I’m also grieving not having the opportunity to experience any of this.
Then there’s thought of sending my young human out into a world which is, let’s face it, a bit shit right now. And yes, I know, whatever my contribution was towards putting him in a position where he knows what he wants to do, he takes the steps he needs to get there, and he goes out and does it, means I’ve had some part to play in raising my young person to independence. This is what all parents need to do and, I imagine hope for.
I hope I’ve done that job as best I could.
But at the same time I’m wondering if I should have done more. All the projects I wanted to do with him and didn’t, the things we started and never finished, the things that are still unopened in their packages. The photos I didn’t make, the annual hand prints I kept forgetting to get him to do on his birthday. All the things I didn’t do, didn’t say.
Though really, I’m sure that even if I had done these things, I’d be sitting here today thinking of other things I’d not done . . . Whatever I’d done it would still feel like it wasn’t enough. So perhaps that little voice can be shoved back in the corner. It’s not a helpful one.
The big one: the anticipation of him leaving.
This is the worst. I believe it’s called anticipatory grief.
Knowing that in less than four weeks, I’ll wake up on the day he’s leaving, and have to say goodbye. The next day will be the first day he won’t be here any more, and that will be how things will be every day.
I can feel his presence in the house even when he’s in his room with the door shut, and it’s a comfort knowing he’s here. But he won’t be after that day. I find this so difficult to even contemplate. That his trip to the airport that day will be one-way and I’ll come home to a house that won’t have him in it any more.
I can’t believe this.
Following that will be a series of firsts that, unlike his childhood firsts, won’t be enjoyable.
The first time I take a shower and his stuff isn’t in the bathroom. His towel not hanging on the towel rack.
The first night I’ll have to shut the chickens up. The first Wednesday he won’t take the bins out. These will be someone else’s jobs now.
The first day he doesn’t walk into the house after work. The first shopping list that isn’t full of ingredients for dishes he’s been making for his YouTube. No more strange concoctions in the fridge. The first week he won’t cook dinner one night. The first Sunday I won’t be cooking dinner for him.
His shoes will be gone.
And I’m sure there will be more.
I’m trying to capture memories of these things before they’re gone forever.
It’s a strange time.
I’ve appreciated the kindness of the people who have listened to me and have given me space to feel how I feel.
Some people have tried to make me feel better by telling me our kids always come back or that this will be a good excuse for a Melbourne holiday or other such pleasantries. I know they’re trying to help, and I appreciate their concern, but trying to make me feel better just invalidates my feelings. I don’t want to dull the feelings or suppress them or make them go away because I don’t think that’s healthy. What I need is to feel what I feel, the sadness, the pain and the grief, along with the cautious optimism. Even that feeling is okay, and the inner voice that wants me to feel guilty for feeling that, well it isn’t in charge.
So here I am, knowing I’m not okay right now, and believing it’s okay to feel like this. Sadness settles in.
And I guess also knowing that this grief co-exists with the feelings of others around me, including Kramstable himself. I absolutely do not want to take away from his excitement and anticipation of his big move, but wow.
This is hard.
Summary of the week
Habit tracker
- 15 minutes morning exercise sequence (7 days): 6/7
- Hip exercises (5 days): 4/5
- Go outside before 8 am (7 days): 7/7
- 2 walks or bike rides or a combination (6 days): 6/6
- Long walk (1 day): 0/1
- Walk 8,000 steps (7 days): 7/7
- Evening exercise sequence (7 days): 6/7
- 9.00 shutdown (7 days): 7/7
What did I learn this week?
The Anthropocene Epoch is an unofficial unit of geologic time, used to describe the most recent period in Earth’s history when human activity started to have a significant impact on the planet’s climate and ecosystems. (Thanks, National Geographic.)
What did I notice this week?
I made a photo of the sign on the Kodak building in the Elizabeth Street Mall.
There is currently a development application in with the council to redevelop this building, which dates back to 1924, and turn it into visitor accommodation. Part of the proposal is to remove this sign.
The application states “this sign is a contemporary addition to the building and does not contribute to the historic heritage significance of the building”. The conservation planning brief notes that this proposal will have some heritage impact in the loss of a traditional (but not original) sign but that, with three other Kodak signs remaining, removing this sign is considered acceptable and will retain the identity of the building.
Posted without comment.
More things I noticed
The Hydro Building reflected in the Marine Board Building.
This sign on 191 Liverpool Street.
I believe this building, designed by Brian Walch in 1973, has always been known as the Wilson Robson Building but the sign is (relatively) new. I’m guessing it was added by the people who bought it in 2024.
What was the best thing this week?
Instantly Obscured, which finished up this week, is the fourth installation of the City of Hobart’s InsideOUT program.
Photo artist Pete Maarseveen hosted this interactive exhibition on Hobart’s waterfront.
He says
In today’s digital age people are so used to just clicking a button to capture an image, then instantly looking at the back of the camera to see what they have taken, deleting it if they don’t like what they have seen.
With Instantly Obscured Peter is trying to remind people that there is a lot more to photography than just the press of a button.
Here he has set up a Camera Obscura (a large walk-in camera) which will give you a life size view of what it sees. Staying within the camera himself, Peter will be working with willing members of the public to capture their exact image coming through the lens onto the photographic paper. He will be processing the images inside the camera, giving an instant (well 20 minutes) negative image.
These images will be displayed for the duration of the project, with new images being captured each time. Working inside the camera, Peter will be building a collection of the Hobart public.
It was really cool.
I’d passed by the giant yellow cubes a few times but never at a time Pete was working. When a friend took part a couple of weeks ago and there was an Instagram post saying Thursday was the final day Pete would be making photos, I made sure I was there at the right time.
By this time Pete only had paper to do headshots, and I think mine is fantastic!
It lifted my spirits a bit in what was otherwise not a great week.
Hopefully Pete will have the opportunity to show all the photos in a larger exhibition sometime in the not too distant future.
What am I watching this week?
Tim Spector: The Science of Eating Well
What am I listening to this week?
dark academia: studying and reading instrumentals playlist by poets and coffee on Spotify
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