Yesterday I went out to lunch with my son. At his request we haven't been talking to each other as often as we used to. I asked him how this was going for me. He said, "good" with a little more enthusiasm than I might have liked. We laughed about how well this arrangement is working out for him and joked about how great he would do with even more distance between us.
Then he said something interesting. He said, "You seem to be worrying about me less." This isn't really true. I worry about him everyday. I'm a mom. That's what I do. However, without our phone conversations there is no opportunity for him to hear the worry in my voice. I started imagining what that must be like for him. He shares his plans, fears, hopes and dreams with me and in my response he hears fear. Embarking on adulthood is hard. My fear must make it even more challenging for him.
I hope that my son realizes that my fear has nothing to do with him. My fear is about me. It is about all the runaway trains, blind corners and treacherous falls I have experienced in my life. It is about my history with him. In my mind I do not always see him as the smart, thoughtful, resourceful person he has become. I can't help but see in him the baby I held and the boy who ran to me crying. I sometimes forget that his path is his own, separate from mine.
I forget...and I am afraid.
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