|Max and friends in Boston|
As a mom, I've had my share of worries about - and for - my kids over these last 32 years. The early worries were things I felt I could do something about. "Take my hand when we walk across the street, please." "Don't talk to strangers." "Don't climb that high!!"
As they got older, I felt less in control, but I felt I still had some. They drove. They were passengers in cars being driven by other teenagers. They stayed out late. They were exposed to drugs and alcohol and lots of questionable behaviors. My pleas made me feel better, but my kids were busy doing their adolescent job of breaking out and establishing their own identities. "You have a curfew for a reason." "Just call me if you can't drive home; I won't ask any questions." "Don't even think about that idea for spring break!"
Neither of my children live in Kansas City now. Like any other mom would, though, I continue to worry about - and for - them. Sometimes, not often, I express my concerns and fears, but I feel both of them have grown up to be good decision-makers. So the "loss of control" over them feels OK.
Today I sit at home worrying about my son in a way I have never worried about him before. He lives in Boston.
At this moment I have absolutely no control. None. I feel fairly useless as Max's mom today.
I know he'll be fine. But, trust me, my nerves are frayed. How I wish I could simply say: "That boy in the white cap is not nice. Just don't pay any attention to him, and he'll leave you alone and go away."