March was hard on me.
I spent it waiting. Waiting to hear if my oldest son would get a full-time job in New York City, where he’s been working an internship since January.
Waiting too on college acceptance or rejection letters from all the places my younger son spent weeks applying to.
What the boys didn’t seem to understand was that I’ve been with them every step of the way. These life-changing events were just as hard on me, or worse, because I, as I always have, was feeling the pain for both of them.
I know I aged at least five years in the last few months. Until this year I didn’t have even one gray hair. Now those little wiry buggers are popping up all over my head. OK, some of them are just because I’m old. But others have Trey’s and Jordan’s names all over them.
Every time the phone would ring I expected it to be my oldest with news about whether he’d landed the job he wanted at The Wall Street Journal’s MarketWatch. He’d call to say hey, and my first questions were always, “Well, any news? How’s it looking? Do you think you are going to get it?” I know I was driving him crazy, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Then there was the evening mailbox check. I’d peek in to see if the college envelope was big — the better the chance it included a letter starting with “Congratulations!” I’d pull out the mail with my heart thumping and pass it to my son with shaking hands. Jordan stayed cool, opened every letter slowly and read silently. All the while, I’m stammering, “What’s it say, what’s it say? Are you in?”
Jordan shot high, applying to all the elite schools. The ones with 5 percent acceptance rates. Crazy! Trey just had to be in New York City at a we-rarely-hire-anyone paper or magazine. Crazy!
And so it went all month.
It was looking as if Jordan’s hope for a top college would slowly die. Letter after letter had him wait-listed. He had what it took to get in, but they had no room for him — rejection in our book. Then, big envelopes. A yes from Vanderbilt in Nashville. A yes from New York University. Phew!
The phone rang. “Mom I got the job.” Trey’s voice was music to me. Finally, I could breath easy.
This month, a first for me, I’m getting my hair dyed.