Missing my boy


It’s his birthday tomorrow: he’s 25. I spent years teaching him to grow up, be independent, persuaded him to move away. So this summer he did. It’s a great job, a great place to live, and a great move for him. But I miss him.

It’s what I persuade my students to do too. I can see why parents who never went to college are resistant to their kids leaving home. Even if they’re living in a house of poverty, sharing a room with 6 siblings, it’s noisy and dangerous, at least their parents can see them and know they are okay.  Or not.

I’m sure he’s okay, I want to check every day. When he lived here we maybe saw each other once a week. I don’t call, I don’t want to intervene that much. My daughter rolled her eyes and told me I could not go to his work conference to say hi. I know, I just want to.

I blame motherhood.


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