My son, Sky, turned 21 in April, and is living about 2,000 miles away in another state. Geographically, that is”he’s pretty grounded. When he was younger, I remember feeling frustrated when he left the milk on the counter instead of putting it back into the fridge, forgot to put his guitar away, challenged me about the wisdom of vegetarianism, or failed to agree with me about the immense importance of whatever my cause of the moment happened to be.
Right now, several women in my life, all of whom I care about a great deal, are expecting new babies. If I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that I feel a twinge of envy about the adventures that lie ahead of them, and all of the beautiful moments, frustrations”and yes, arguments”that are likely part of their future. Having a grown-up, happy son is a wonderful thing, of course, and I get all melty inside when I hear one of his new songs, think about his growing list of personal accomplishments. But, a big part of me just wishes I’d wake up tomorrow morning and find the milk on the kitchen counter, a guitar on the sofa”and hear the sound of his footsteps moving around the house. It’s a mom thing, I guess. I think I’ll go call my own mother. Maybe she even misses all those doors I used to slam.
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