(This article courtesy of the Arlington Catholic Herald.)
We had years stretched before us to learn together about being a family — about being a mother of little children, about being a kid.
We were more than fine. You have been by my side, in good times and bad, all those years. You have delighted your father and me from that very first moment. When you were three, you wanted to be Peter Pan; you ran around the neighborhood, day after day, dressed in green tights and a leotard. You told us all, “I won’t grow up!” A part of me wished you could be right. I was relishing my role as the mother of a tow-headed little boy.
The night before your brother was born, I read Love You Forever before putting you to bed. I left for the hospital singing the refrain from that book, “I’ll love forever, I’ll like you for always, As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.” You are my baby, but oh, how you’ve grown!
There were four more babies after that night and you are an extraordinary big brother. Despite those early assertions, you are growing up and here we stand, on the brink of your teenage years. You are closer in age now to my age when you were born than I am. I held you on my hip for years; now we are nose to nose, though we don’t always see eye to eye. You are still a tow-head — only now you spray a little Sun-In to polish up the shine. And you no longer wear tights and leotards.
Now those years that stretched so leisurely before us seem so very short. Overnight, the mother of babies I always knew I’d be is the mother of a teenager. You have being a kid pretty well figured out. Now, you have just a few years to figure out how to be a grown up.
We’ll be here, your Daddy and I, to help you, to watch you take all the “first steps” that are ahead of you. We’ll be here to continue to say “no” when you’d prefer to hear “yes.” We’ll be here to send you soaring and to cheer you on. And we’ll be home, with the porch light burning.
But I have to warn you, we won’t always have all the answers anymore. When you ask what makes men hate so hotly that they take innocent lives, we have no easy answer and we can’t help you look it up in a book. When you ask if you are safe, we can’t guarantee you that no harm will ever come to you. When you ask if I can promise that Daddy will land safely and be home to celebrate your birthday, I can’t promise that either.
Michael, part of growing up is finding out that your parents are neither omnipotent or omniscient. Part of growing up is finding out that grown ups are still growing, too. So, we’re really in this together, my dear.
As the sun sets on your childish days and you wake tomorrow a teenager, I can tell you just a few things, for sure: There are times when I miss my baby, but I love my big boy with all my heart. There are times when even Mommy is afraid, but God is in His heaven and He holds us in His hands. There is no storm — including adolescence and terrorism — that is bigger or more powerful than He. You can count on me to remind you often that God loves you. And so do I.
