Jake (my youngest son) called me when he left school today -- he sounded quietly upset, which is rare. Elyse (his girlfriend) had called. The brother of her best friend had been killed the night before in a drug-related shooting. He was twenty, and apparently, was dealing.
At twenty, I had a newborn baby, a new house (a fixer-upper which was so far gone, had we had any sense at all, we would have run screaming the other direction), very little money, and no real connection with the outside world since I wasn't working when Luke (oldest son) first came along. I remember fearing that I wouldn't have a clue about the dangers of the world and something terrible would happen to my kids, and like most moms, I fretted and worried about harm and making their world a safe place.
The first worries were harder, I thought -- trying to figure out what they needed when they were crying and not able to explain. It would be easier when they were walking and talking. And then when that happened, I was certain the next part was by far harder, because they could knock things over, fall and get hurt, run into the street, and so on. The next age, I was sure, would be easier.
Then they were riding bikes and wanting to go farther and farther away from the house, which was hard because I wanted them to grow up independent and self-sufficient. But safe. And how does a mom make that safe? So surely, the next age would be easier.
When they could drive, their world got bigger and bigger beyond any semblance or pretense of my having control, though I delude myself daily that since I'm very involved with them and we get along great, I'm somehow stemming the tide, standing between them and harm.
Something like this happens, and my heart breaks for that mom, because there is really no such thing as standing between our kids and harm. There is only the illusion. Some days, it is enough, and it works, if only because we got lucky.
Some days, we aren't lucky.
Twenty.
There is no "easier" age, is there?
Posted by toni at February 3, 2004 01:37 AM