Here’s the deal, my “kid” is thirty-three years old, and in my heart, he still needs me, and yet, in reality, I know he really only needs me on rare occasions. It’s our job as parents to raise confident and capable people who we then must let go of and set free into the world to live their lives.
My son is a globetrotter. From one end of the earth to the other, he treks. I still ask him to email his itineraries to me so I know where he is. Whenever he calls to tell me about his escapades in foreign lands, I feel a sense of pride and awe at his adventurous spirit, and yes, I worry about him…a lot.
When he and I are the same city, or when he comes to visit and we are under the same roof, I feel a huge sense of relief – I know where he is and he is safe. That maternal feeling just never leaves me.
My husband and I live a very rich life with work filled days, much socializing and travel of our own, so don’t mistake me for some doddering old mum who lives vicariously through her child. I definitely don’t, but I’d be remiss to ignore the emotional tie that binds me to my son, as it is a tightly woven and complex tether of love.
I feel proud about the person my son has become, and feel his pain when life challenges him. As I watch him walk through life, tall, handsome, strong and bright as all-get-out, I also see that he is not without frailty. I hope that his kind and gentle heart remains a little soft around the edges and that he always feels compassion for others. I hope that life will be fair to him, but I know from my own experiences, that it probably won’t be. I pray that he is singularly whole and autonomous, and that he finds deep and meaningful romantic love.
I began writing this blog because I felt it was an easy format to write recipes and some of the stories behind them for my son, nephews and nieces. It was also a place where I could share interesting anecdotes that were meaningful to me, so someday when I am off in the big kitchen in the sky, my son, and possibly, his children, will know me in an intimate way. They will know about the things that moved me to laughter or tears. For my son, he will be able to read my words when I am no longer here, and know that his was the most important relationship of my life.
He was born on my 23rd birthday, four minutes from the time I was born. I knew all along that he would be born on November seventh. It was a long, drug-free, and quiet labor. Lucid and meditative, I sat in a chair for twelve hours, eyes closed, breathing deeply, witnessing the intense power of my body – I felt complete trust that it knew exactly what to do, so I sat patiently and let the contractions work their magic.
I did what women have done from the beginning of time. My body had given life to a human being. I don’t care how common the deed is, it is still the most miraculous and powerful of life’s events.
So I’ll cut myself some slack for loving this six foot three man as much as I do. I’ll give myself permission to continue worrying about him until the end of my time. He is part of my life’s purpose and always will be.
Wishing all of the mothers and their children, a happy day. I honor all of you.