Lately, I have been thinking a lot about how my son is a stranger to me; about his hidden life. He is 23 years old and there is so much I do not know about him. When did that happen? When did he become a stranger?
So, too, is my daughter. I probably know a little more about her but that is because she is 32 and a mother. We relate because we are both mothers. However, we are so different.
We think of having “babies.” We do not think about having defiant teenagers. We do not think of having 23 and 32 year old children. Are they any less our children as they grow older? At 56, I am still my mother’s child. The Girl and The Boy will always be my children.
There are probably a lot of things I don’t want to know about my children. I feel anxiety just contemplating their secrets. There are many things I hope my mom doesn’t know about the younger me. I wish it wasn’t so but it is.
Where am I going with this? I don’t know. Just feeling the need to try to work out what I am feeling. My children still need me. I need their help. Maybe there will be a symbiosis some day. ~heavy sigh~ Some day.
