Technically I should have written this yesterday, but I'm claiming busy-mom-syndrome and writing this at 1:30 the morning after, so it still counts, right? Right!
When I woke up I recalled the excitement of waking up on this day 13 years ago. I just knew that in a few hours I would hold my son. Things didn't work out quite the way we planned, but the day ended and I had briefly held my son.
This morning I knew it was only minutes before I could hug him and I was sure that it too would be brief. I was a bit more apprehensive to wake him up this year, after all I was waking a teenager. Still, I thought that the lure of presents and cake would ensure a good mood long enough for me to get my hug. I was right.
I spent most of the day reflecting on the last 13 years of my son's life. There have been moments of unspeakable joy, heart-wrenching pain, white-hot anger, and sheer frustration. But, underneath every one of those moments was an endless supply of love. I never knew I could love so deeply and so unconditionally. I admit it, I am in love with my son. Not in an icky or, I hope, over-bearing way, but in a manner that allows me to see flaws and diamonds and love them both equally and deeply.
JM learned early on that my love was the "no matter what" kind, which for him is a very good thing. I could swear that he lies awake and thinks of ways to test the theory. Fortunately he also learned that I can separate him from his behavior and when I am most angry or frustrated it's at the behaviors not the person.
Today my son turned 13. In some cultures he would be considered a man. In the culture of my heart he's still my baby boy. The one I am most grateful for, and to; the child I am blessed to have call me Mom. It's been amazing to watch him for the past 13 years, I'm sure the future will be just as amazing. And while I suppose I'm not ready for him to move on and move forward, I'm grateful to be included on the journey.
