I didn't see Adam for years. To me, he skipped from being a baby in a car seat at a dance to being a young boy with a bit of a lisp graduating from Kindergarden. There is no in-between.
I missed it.
I wish I could have been there for his first steps ... but I taught him to drive.
I wish I could have been there for his first words ... but I was there for his first english paper.
I wish I could have been there when he cried for food ... but I was there when he cried ... over girls, over devastating medical news, over the hurts that cut deeply.
Thinking back on all the things we've done over the years, missing those first five and a half doesn't sound like much ... but they're fully 1/4 of his life ... and now that he's talking seriously about moving out ... the 14 years I've had just don't seem like enough. I want to reach out and hold him some more. I want to keep him home where the problems are less real, and the bills are covered.
He's planning on staying home about another year ... He needs to get a bit more of a handle on his medical condition, get some things in order. But he's ready. I can feel it in my gut, and I'm sure he can. I already miss that baby that I held so many years ago. I already miss that hard headed stubborn 5 year old that argued with me over toys.
And I already miss the punk rocker pain in the ass that's occupied the bedroom across the hall from me for the last several years.
|My Son: Adam|
Happy Birthday, kid ... you may be ready, but I'm damned well not.
God ... help me survive this!