Confessions of a Daughterless Mother

Aiden sailing ahead of me There are times the universe speaks to me, lands in my lap the lessons I need to learn, what I need to know to grow. This week I had an email, a book and a conversation that conspired together to get me thinking. Raising teens, and young adults, has been the most trying time of my mothering journey. I look backward when they were babies and toddlers, in elementary school and I know the struggles were significant, the feeling of being bone tired was real, the panic and worry when a fever struck, or a bully challenged their days kept me awake many, many nights. But this. The physical work is so much less. My boys can feed themselves, wash their clothes (although I still choose to do it for them - don't judge me please), take themselves to practice.  They are independent in their physical need of me. The toll I pay now is one of mental clarity and emotional peace.  Of sleep in a way that makes me crave a newborn crying and needing to nurse.  Please do

A photo of Jacko's feet on the edge of the roof top of the Hog's Breath Saloon in Key West. He sent it to me while I was enjoying a cold beer and hadn't realized he had slipped away... His eyes search for roof tops the way my soul craves sand and sun. He seeks adventure, I seek safety. He darts from thought to action. I take my time, mull my options, weigh my thoughts.  He eats horse radish from a spoon and loves flaming hot Cheetos. I think ketchup is spicy.  Want to hear a Russian accent? He can do it. Irish? Absolutely. English? Scottish? Aussie? Yep, yep and yep.  He is even fluent in chipmunk. Puns roll off his tongue as easily as sarcastic remarks, he craves knowledge with his body and shirks reading or writing. His eyes sparkle with mischief - no really, they actually sparkle. He doesn't just think out of his box, he dances on it. Daily. Loudly. He craves risk, excitement, speed, danger. He is bold. He is fearless. My son.  My magical, beautiful, noisy, ex