My son is all about his tribe. His peeps are important to him, like air is to life. He is all about his family, his own wolf pack. He would prefer we all be in the same room together, 24/7. Since this is not possible he has created his coping mechanisms to get through the parts of the day we are not together. We have also taught him that just because we are not physically with him, we are always together. Just like we can’t see the stars during the day up in the bright blue sky, they are still there. We tell him that we believe apart from one another, does not make us separate.

“You are always here buddy,” hubby says to him as he places his hand over his heart.

“I am always with you and you with me,” I say, also with a hand over my heart.

He tells us at night when tucking him into bed, “I will see you in my sleep and we will meet on a star.”

When I leave, he has to give me his ritual kiss: European cheek kiss twice, three lip kisses, with the last kiss being longer than the others. Then he has to speak his words: “I have a beam of light around me, I say yes to being safe and healthy,” three times. Then as we walk away from each other he says, “Have your phone? Will it be on? Will you try and answer?” If I say anything other than “yes” to this string of questions, he has to start over. Even if he knows I don’t have my phone, it is at home recharging, or he knows I will be somewhere where I will have the ringer silenced, he still wants me to say “yes.” The particulars aren’t necessary to him, he just finds great solace in speaking these words, performing his ritual.

When hubby or sister leave, same thing. Same words, same kiss routine, same questioning about the phone.

He will often voice his dislike for one of us leaving, but even through his tears, he chokes out his mantra, recites his words, finding comfort in his routine.

Everyone tells me he will grow out of it. Hard to believe when you are trying to get out the door and your nine year old is asking you through his tears about your phone being on when you see it recharging on the kitchen counter.

What keeps me sane through these dramatic, highly charged moments is knowing that I am not alone. When I pause, breathe and connect to the divinity within me and ask God for help or thank God for guiding me, I somehow settle in to a place of peace. It is when I forget to connect through my breath, or prayer, that I lose it. Emotionally. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually.

None of us are ever alone. We definitely may feel it. I feel it often. Even if you don’t have a belief in a Higher Power, you can’t deny that we are ALL breathing the same air. The same air that gives us all life. This alone unites us.

When my son says he will miss me when we are apart he now reminds me, “But I know you are with me and I can send you a star even if you are unable to answer your phone.”

Funny thing. He hardly ever calls. He just wants the reassurance that I will answer if he does. And after lots of practice, he believes we are always together. It still makes his little heart race extra fast in those moments of good bye. But he now is the one who reminds us, “It’s not good- bye, it’s see ya, and I’ll see you very soon, mama and dada.”

He finds peace in his rituals. I find peace in connecting to something bigger than me. To something I can’t see, but just like the stars, I know is fully present, totally there.

Cheers, Jenny