We are all grieving this week. We were collectively brought to our knees by the tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut, the horror unbearable.

But bear it I will.

Because anyone who has urged her child to take steps toward independence, anyone who has watched her child walk down that school hallway, knows that setting them free is our job. We watch them go every day, and we pray that they come back to us.

So I bear the pain of those parents and families, because it could easily be my pain. Or yours. We should be in this together, because alone is simply not okay.

For now, I pray. I don’t understand, but I pray. We will bear this with you, Newtown.

(I know many of us are looking for tangible ways to reach out, as well. Here are some ideas from my friends at LiveMom.)

The piece below is something I wrote a couple weeks ago, intending to post it here this week. I had no idea when I wrote it how poignant the idea of letting go would now seem. I waffled, thought about not posting it, thought about deleting the part about being impatient, but ultimately decided to leave it all alone.

Part of bearing this tragedy with Newtown is being present – and real – in our own lives as we endeavor to raise our children. Sometimes we may lose our patience, even as we love the stuffing out of our kids. So we learn from those moments, we share them so someone else may learn. We are charged with not only letting our children go, but making sure they are good (and well loved) people when we do.

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A couple weeks ago we started getting ready for Christmas. And yes, it’s a multistep affair here. It’s not that I’m some crazed Christmas lunatic, decorating every surface of her home. I’m merely slightly deranged, and like to decorate a lot of the surfaces.

When the boxes came out of the closet and down from the attic, my boys lit up. They are still young enough to be enthusiastic helpers and want to help with everything. Every single chore and task. They have the attention spans of gnats, but their intentions are pure.

So when the first tree – we have two, and if I could talk Mark into it, we’d have one in every room… in fact, I’m going to start lobbying for that as soon as I’m finished writing this – went up they begged, in the manner of a Real Housewife at a botox party, to have the full experience. I had two shadows every step of the way. And it was not easy to maintain my Christmas spirit.

Little hands were rifling through the ornament boxes, with no regard to delicate glass or handmade treasures. Little mouths were bickering with each other over who got to do more. Little feet were running circles around me, the tree, the boxes.

I felt my patience, not something I have a lot of to begin with, wavering. More accurately, I felt my weak patience reserve catching the express train to Mommy-Is-Getting-Screamy Town, population 1.

So I had a town meeting about what’s important (minimizing shattered glass and the potential for cutting fingers and toes on that shattered glass, oh, and Christmas spirit, holiday memories, and stuff) and what doesn’t matter (perfectly spaced ornaments).

Then…

I let go. I made one rule, and that was: Mom unwraps the ornaments and hands them over for hanging on the tree. I also suggested a little less nattering between brothers, but I didn’t lecture.

I let go. I stood there and watched them, as children do, hang every single ornament on three branches, all located at their eye level.

I let go. When their wee attention spans waned, leaving me surrounded by tissue paper, ornament hooks, and a 1/8 decorated tree, I sent them on their way to do something more fun. Something safe and calm, like smothering each other with bean bag chairs.

Later that night, after the children were sleeping, snug in their beds, I hung the most delicate ornaments, filling in the remaining 7/8 of the tree. And yes, I moved a few of the ornaments hung by little hands – but only those that were barely attached to branches, in danger of toppling off the tree. Mostly, though, I left everything as the boys did.

Because as parents, one of the most important things we can do for our kids is let go.

We start, like children themselves, with baby steps. We let go of control over our homes and our sleep, embracing our child’s needs instead.

And then we take bigger steps. We let go of a little control, and send them off to school. We let go of a little more control, and send them to sleepovers or summer camp.

Ultimately, we’ll be done taking practice steps, and hand over all that control. We’ll let go, and send our kids out into the world.

Like any hard thing, letting go takes practice. This Christmas, I’m practicing moving from baby steps to bigger steps. Haphazardly placed ornaments, I can handle (mostly). But I need a lot more practice before I’m ready to let these boys go out into the world.