My oldest son graced me with a visit for 24 hours. The adage “Parenting is a lesson in letting go” is proven over and over, and each time, there’s a little tear in the heart.
After my sons left the house, there’d be mornings when I’d wake up uncommonly cheerful and realize then that it was because they were both safely in their beds. With time, this is a less frequent occurrence.
When they didn’t call for a spell, I’d comfort myself thinking, it means they’re handling things without me and doing well. As they become adults, they tell me less and less. Yet I somehow expected the opposite, that we would end up even closer, after passing the teenage years, the college years, the puppy adult years.
N. is going to be 34 in a few days, fully grown. A grown up with an important company job that has him working all the time and traveling perhaps too much – Europe three times in these two months, for example. He’s someone who listens keenly to others, and with compassion. He’s always willing to help – yesterday he was happy to help B. and I take down the booth.
I wonder sometimes, is he too good? Can his friends match his caring, generosity, kindness?
I asked him once, if giving and receiving summed up to 100, what’s your ratio of giving and receiving? He didn’t have to think too long: 85% giving. We should strive to equalize the two, I pontificated.
Why? he asked.
Why indeed.
Did I raise this child? Or is he raising me?
I liked this unusual perspective on mothering ~ observing, assessing, questioning, learning from.
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