Take a Wild Guess

Photo credit: Google Images

When my children left for college, I wasn’t ready to let them go. Partly because they were my babies and how could I ever be ready? And partly because I worried that if they left, they’d never come back.

I left home one month after graduating high school and headed to Bellingham with my best friends. As I drove to my new home, I listened to a Creedence Clearwater Revival song called, “Put a Candle in the Window,” and each time the song ended, I’d cry and rewind the tape so I could listen again. The lyrics spoke deeply to my 18-year-old self:

Put a candle in the window
'Cause I feel I've got to move
Though I'm goin', goin'
I'll be comin' home soon
Long as I can see the light

Pack my bag and let's get moving
'Cause I'm bound to drift awhile
Though I'm gone, gone
You don't have to worry, no
Long as I can see the light

Guess I've got that old travelin' bone
'Cause this feeling won't leave me alone
But I won't, won't
Be losin' my way
Long as I can see the light

Twenty-three years later, we were in the car taking our son Jackson to college—to his new home—in Bellingham. Our daughter, Ali, had moved across the state the month before, and all I could do was just try to keep it together as we headed toward Bellingham. Toward another gut-wrenching goodbye.

As we drove, I told Jackson about the song I listened to the day I moved to Bellingham and recommended he listen to it. I wasn’t sure he heard me, or if he even knew I was in the car, because he didn’t respond. I wanted to play the song for him and make him listen with me, but the music would have been drowned out by my shuddering sobs. Also, everyone knows to tread lightly with a teenager who’s already annoyed by you, so I didn’t press my luck. I just hoped he’d listen to it one day.

The months went by and Ali moved home after spending a semester at a college that was not a good fit. But Jackson loved school. He loved his new town, his new friends, his new freedom. He rarely called, but we texted daily on our family group chat.

As Mother’s Day drew near, I didn’t know how to broach the subject with Jackson. I didn’t want to spend a Mother’s Day without all of my kids, but I refused to pressure him into coming home. I thought Chad, the girls, and I could drive to Bellingham to spend Mother’s Day together, so I texted Jackson early in the week:

“Hi, do you have plans on Sunday?”

He texted back: “Yeah, I’m sorry. There’s a church thing I’m doing with Stevie.”

My reply did not reflect my disappointment because I made a promise to never guilt trip my children. I just wrote: “Okay. I love you. Have a great week!”

“I love you more,” he texted back.

I had spent months practicing the art of letting go, but still I cried because why was it so easy for him to grow up? I wanted him to miss me. The Friday evening before Mother’s Day, I was watching a movie on the couch, and I heard Chad come through the back door and say, “Rachel, can you come outside for a minute?”

I turned around and Chad was standing next to Jackson and both of them were smiling. I screamed and jumped off the couch, hugging my boy like he’d just come home from war. He surprised me for Mother’s Day and everyone knew he was coming but me.

On Sunday morning, Ashley made cinnamon rolls and cleaned the house for me, Ali bought me flowers and a card, and Jackson was sound asleep in his room. Chad, the girls, and I went to church but Jackson didn’t want to wake up. Eventually he did, and he walked into church 30 minutes late eating chocolates from a table in the foyer which were meant for the moms in church.  

My mom, sister, and brother-in-law came over for lunch that afternoon. As we stood in the dining room exchanging cards, Jackson walked in and handed me a card. On the envelope, instead of “Mom,” he’d written, “Take a Wild Guess.”

Inside was a handmade card. On the front Jackson wrote:

A letter to my mother who

Without I’d know not what to do.

A Happy Mother’s Day to you!

“Read it out loud,” Jackson told me. And I tried, but nobody could understand what I was saying through all my blubbering and tears. Jackson’s poem said:

It’s sad to say there comes a day

When I will have to move away.

I know I say I do not miss

Your loving hugs and goodnight kiss.

But if I stay away too long

In my heart I hear a song

That makes me think of times when I

Would come home and you wouldn’t cry.

So light this candle up at night

And know that you are always right.

‘Cause I’ll come back within your sight

Long as I can see the light.

When I was done, Jackson handed me a bag containing five 3-wick candles that he’d picked out with my favorite scents in mind. And as I hugged him and cried into his chest because he’s foot taller than me, he said, “I listened to that song.” Then he wiped his eyes and walked away.

They really do come back. Maybe not in the way you imagine, and definitely not in the way you expect, but they do come home. For a minute or two, and then they’re gone again. And now, when I feel lonely and I start to wonder if my kids even care. I just do what Jackson told me to, I light a candle and take a wild guess.