I Don't Have All the Answers and That's Suddenly OK

He asks a question. A test. A puzzle. Sweetly.  Like he did when he was 8, and 11, and even 16.  “Why do you think humans can see more shades of green than any other color?”  He smiles, suddenly, and just as quickly tightens his lips into a thin line to stop himself from smiling widely.  Almost giving himself away.  But he smiles this way when he thanks me for helping him out with his unexpected car repairs, for bringing home bagels from the bagel shop, ordering wings with the pizza, or for purchasing train tickets to visit his brother and sister.  It is a beautiful smile, somewhat awkward, genuine, heartfelt and beyond his control.

He smiles this way as soon as he poses the question awaiting my reply, already knowing the answer.  We are in the car.  It’s his birthday.  Driving to a restaurant to celebrate.  Clear blue sky.  Green thick and lush in every direction.  The fullness of late spring.

He continues, “Green takes up the most space in the color spectrum that is visible to the eye. Why do you think that is?” Facts. Factoids. The boyness of him makes me smile as he approaches manhood from every angle.  He has been quizzing me since he started preschool.  There was a tense stint around middle school when the questions drove me to derision.  A trying time.  He didn’t always listen to the answers.  Maybe it was not the questions as much as it was the truth that I was the only one being asked.  The only one answering.  Maybe the questions got harder and caused me to see the groundswell that was forming all around me.  Life was changing, rapidly.  Was I the only one that was feeling it?  I, like him, had no one else to ask. 

As the world began plucking my children one by one from my tightly knitted nest, my world began unraveling.  A few short years later I would be divorced, raising him entirely on my own.  Answering his questions the best that I could.  I had by then plenty of experience.  Must children grow older and insist on letting you know they are smarter, kinder, faster, easier and no longer in need of the careful watch you provided or the answers to random questions that you sometimes suffered over? Looking back, I did not know the answers to many of his questions. I did not know what 3G meant or 4S.  I am still not exactly clear what 5S means but 6S is much larger, I think.  I did not know that humans have unique tongue prints, like finger prints, or that most muppets are left handed.  I didn’t realize the northern leopard frog uses it’s eyes to swallow its prey by retracting them into their heads to help push food down its throat.  I didn't know a few other things, I had no way of knowing.

I do know that on his birthday in June when he asked me about the human eye and the color green it made me happy and filled me with warmth.  I was up for the challenge.  And fortunately it was a beautiful late spring day, green was all around us, every shade.  And I deducted correctly that early humans were out in the lush green world, and as shades of green shifted slightly,  it could have meant danger was near by, or food, or plants that could cause harm.  Recognizing all of those shades of green offered a better shot at survival.  He smiled again and nodded his head impressed with my thoughtful answer. 

I recalled that day in June while hiking in the white snow covered mountains of the Adirondacks this week. Six months later.  Our world has changed drastically and it remains somewhat the same.  We have survived devastating news, his temporary return to the nest, a few pleasant surprises and a few not so pleasant ones. During this time he has asked more questions, about me, his father.  About his childhood.  I don’t know all the answers.  I am the only one answering, still.  I am the only one here.  I attempt to answer gently.  In kindness and love toward him.  The only way I can.  I can only speak from my heart. Fortunately, it is large enough for the task. 

I hike. And think. And sort through the questions that remain for me.  I let some go.  There is nothing else to do.  I called him before my hike. With a question.  That sort of turned out to be more of a plea. Or an accusation? My question does not have a beautiful warm smile attached to it.  It is laced with panic and frustration.  I call 30 minutes away from the trailhead, each minute counts, daylight is only offered briefly in these winter months. 

Ring ring ring….It’s 8am mom time.  Which means the crack of dawn son time.  He doesn’t pick up so I leave a message.  “Hey.  Do you know where my crampons are?”  Then I attempt to text, because I won't be able to hike without them and my heart is set on the growing madness of my first solo winter hike.   He calls as I am texting.  Groggily, he asks why I’m calling.  When I ask about my crampons, (winter spikes for hiking) he answers in a state of half sleep-WTF-ness “What? Why would I have those?  he drags out, "R-e-a-l-ly ?”.  I answer in frustrated unease.  “It’s not that out of this world.”  “What’s the last thing I took from your car without asking?” he implores.   “My iPhone charger and my AUX cord." (I’m ready for this.)  “But c’mon” he slurs in his sleep voice,  “Crampons?  Why would I take those?  What would I need those for?”  He has a point. But they are pretty sick looking, (as in cool) I can imagine he would be curious about them.  I also realize I am just slightly panicking because I have decided to go on this insane winter hike.  On my own.  I say goodbye as he says “What?” a couple of times.  I tease, to make up for this crazy call and my panicked state, "Don't you have a song you want to sing to me this bright early morning?" "What?" he asks, but is drifting back to sleep, stating we have a bad connection. I hang up and when the panic subsides slightly, I find the crampons under the passenger car seat.  The panic remains but sits quietly in the passenger seat as I embark on my adventure and text him my discovery and apology.

His questions are always better, I think as I sign in and begin my trek.  I’m starting to realize I don’t really need to go on bigger, better, distracting adventures to avoid the reality that my children have all grown.  They are out in the world, as they were meant to be.  I could not be prouder.  They may continue to have questions that they seek me out for my answers or just comedic relief.   They know I will answer honestly and openly.  They also have the means to discover answers on their own.  I no longer need to strap on my crampons, scale mountains, toy with frostbite or fly solo.  I can begin to live my life fully.

I don’t quite get to this realization until my shins are bruised from sinking into 10 inches of snow and attempting to move forward.  I wished my eyes could detect a few more variations of white.  Apparently crampons do very little to keep you from sinking into snow covered streams.  I might have been better off if he had borrowed them,  I mutter to myself as I rewarm my frozen feet and begin to fret over real problems...what to wear on my New Years Eve date for instance.   I probably won’t call my son to ask if I can I dance in sterile bandages…maybe the crampons will disguise the blackened digits that once resembled toes?  I can probably figure this out on my own.