Letting Go

"It's a mother thing," Tom says in his attempt to rationalize my lingering concern over Jason's well-being.  By including me in with all of the other mothers in the whole wide world and Venus, he's telling me that, in the land of motherhood, my emotional hovering, my need to fix what is broken, my pain, disappointment, and sorrow that accompanies Jason's pain, disappointment and sorrow, my sleepless nights worrying, is perfectly normal. "The mother you were, and the mother you are is okay.  It's what mothers do."

"Not so fast!" some of my friends, family, ex-husband, and Jason's former teachers say.

"Is it true, Carol Louise, that you ran ahead of Jason so you could remove all obstacles in his path? That's not okay." 

"Well, let me think about that question.  It was oh so long ago, you know.  And my memory is not what it used to be.  Did I run?  Was that the question? No, but I jogged sometimes.  I played tennis.  Does that count?"

"Didn't you cater to your son? That's not okay."

"Uh, sorry.  Not sure I heard your question correctly.  Did I cater?  No, but my friend Judy was thinking about catering.  Could you have me confused with her?  And she's a runner, too."

"Jason is a grown man now and doing quite well on his own four hundred miles north of you. He doesn't need or want you to be concerned, anxious, or worried.  You don't need to fix anything.  You can relax, get some sleep.  Letting go is okay."

"Uh...uh...did you say something?  It's my hearing, you know.  Not so good anymore.  If you will excuse me, I'm busy and don't have time for your well meaning but unsolicited advice.  I'm packing to go to Indianapolis.  Jason needs me, and, by the way, that's okay."