is the marble jar is empty?

i listened to a talk today from a successful former life-long foster kid. he talked about the link between success and having an adult that never gives up on you. he talked about the impact adults have on kids. he showed some glass jars filled with marbles that represented the number of weeks in a life between birth and 18. then half that number of marbles between 9 years and 18, and then a very small group of marble from 16 to 18.  then he talked about his last foster dad who changed his life when he was 17 and a half. when he only had 26 marbles left in his jar. he did something bad, again, and his foster dad sat him down and said, "son, i don't see you as a problem, despite what you did and what you think. i see you as an opportunity." the power of words. the power of invested time that give the words foundation. the power of belief and support and never giving up. his point was, you always have time to impact the life of a child even if only one marble left.  of course i cried. and then i gulped because i don't have any more marbles in zoe's jar. in 2 days, she turns 18.

it kind of feels like a big deal. i think she thinks so too. she's acting mean and more stressed out than usual and instead of the excited pre-birthday gift chatter, she's ignoring it or using it as a reason for her stress. "you know i just need to be left alone! i'm about to turn 18!" as if the very act will take everything she's got. she's also using it as a way to not do things. "you know when i'm 18 i get to make my own decisions about my life!" she says when i ask her to take a bath. (tomorrow maybe her last bath ever!) i'm left with her stress, her anger, her fears, her overwhelm, her sadness. and i'm left with mine.

classically, 18 is a major turning point. it's becoming a real adult. it's independence in a new way. it's voter registration and draft registration. it's whatever movie you want to see. it's making your own medical decisions. it's not needing parental approval. it's usually move out of the house, go to college or get a job. it's thanks for raising me, but i've got this now. it's the loss of childhood and it's the brave entry into your own.

but. not. always. (and i think she knows it.)

let's be honest, adulthood is complicated. is it an age? or something you achieve? do you have to pass into it? in some ways it seems so. she's no where near independence. a part of her wants it desperately and a part of her is terrified of it. she wants to be able to do it, but she knows she's not ready and she's so afraid of failure, that she's not willing to try.

i read an article earlier today about how fast the time of raising our kids goes. how their years slip through our fingers like sand, so quickly on to the next stage so quickly it seems the separation begins, the individuation that as parents we desperately want for them and look forward to, while we simultaneously grieve the end of the needed seasons, the time when our connection was bodily and constant. it peels away slowly but when it's gone, it feels like an instant. i tearily read the article (because everything is moving me these days) and thought of jude, not zoe. he has lapped her in the independence department.

with zoe time has felt less like slipping sand and more like sticky batter that i'm trying to shape onto a cookie sheet but it won't leave my hands. none of her growing up has been easy or quick. her individuation is complex, she's clearly her own person, but dependent for so many things and so resistant to the next stage. my boys weaned themselves before i was ready and became progressively mobile until i was running to catch up with them. i had to force zoe to crawl, coerce her on hikes, even now she wants me to say "go zoe go!" just to get out of bed!

here's the thing, i'm not ready for her to go. i'm not sitting around wishing she would, but i do long for her to be where she wants to be in life instead of caught in the conflict of it. and i increasingly see the conflict. she carried Simba (the giant lion king plush toy) to the school market where she sells her cookies, and then starred enchantingly at the boys her age. she wants to make her own decisions about everything but can't responsibly brush her teeth. she notices that her childhood friend and cousin are applying to colleges and responds with expressions of happiness and jealousy. i can feel her conflict all. the. time. i try to hold compassion but not ever let it be pity. i try to feel with out feeling sorry for. i try to encourage her with out shaming her. i try to support her while being honest with her. pity, unfounded praise and false hope don't help anyone, but listening with compassion, believing in her without doling out expectations, and helping her accept a compliment given in truth, those things do help.

life with zoe has never been typical. she has grown me and stretched me in ways i never dreamed of and she will continue to. we've never hit milestones on time, some we haven't yet reached and some we may not.

maybe zoe's jar has marbles for the milestones not for weeks and we still have a lot left. or maybe we get another giant jar full when we turn 18- the adult marble jar.

but i think it's all reversed. i think we start out as empty jars and we become filled. over the years we collect things, not just marbles,  not just time, but life. beauty and pain. images and words. memories and relationships. rich flavors and broken bones. the smell of the goodness of life and tears. moments.  and all these things become parts of who we are. there is no ticking clock. there is no marble snatcher. only the slow additions. the collection. the pieces. making the incredible, one of a kind, that each of us are.

no the jar is not empty. it's 18 years full, almost.