Sometimes, I feel like there is a strange membrane around me that doesn't let me feel everything I should. I think I developed it back when I was with my first (abusive) husband. Don't let anyone in. People can mash themselves up against it, but no one can really touch me. I worry about that sometimes.
But my son... he is a different story. He's my only shot at parenthood, an unexpected miracle when I didn't expect to ever be a mother. He's here inside my wall. Closer than anyone else, perhaps because he came from my body and was concieved in love. The mere idea that something awful could happen to him brings me to tears and clutches my heart like an attack on my soul.
This is why I have to WORK at allowing him his independence. The world feels hollow when he's not near, even when he's frustrating me or pissing me off, I'd rather he was here with me. Such is the mother-plight.
And now that he's growing into a young man, I will have to reinvent myself again, into someone that is able to stand back and let him make his own choices without interfering. His time with me will be less and less, which is how it should be. And I know that as empty nest begins to loom in a few years, I'll be snipping apron strings at a furious pace whether I want to or not. And I'll be okay because I know this is what is supposed to happen.
I worry about my husband though. He doesn't let go as readily, even when he knows he needs to. Empty nesting will be very hard on him.