Confessions of a Daughterless Mother

I may have met you already, perhaps not. You are the one who will whisk him away, create a life with him, a family a home. You are the one that will find his lost wallet, hear his frustrations at the end of the day and his excitement in the morning. You will be the keeper of his heart and the love that he builds his life around. You are what I want for him ... a partner, a best friend, a love, a co-parent.  Since the day I found out my son would come to be I have cringed--both inwardly and outwardly--at the quote "A daughter is a daughter all her life but a son is a son 'till he takes a wife". It hurts, honestly, down to my bones. But here's the thing ... it's partly true. It's true that I won't be his soft place to fall--at least not all the time -- but it's also true that I want that for him. I want him to create his own life, his own family, his own purpose and why in this world. It's also true that I want to be a part of it. 

I'm sick. Like coughing-so-hard-i-might-turn-inside-out sick. I haven't slept in a week and when I have slept it's been interrupted (repeatedly) by hacking fits. Last night I laid in bed sitting straight up for two hours waiting for the cough medicine I took to settle into my lungs and help a girl out. Two hours. Two hours I coughed and coughed. I finally fell asleep only to wake up at 4:37 am. I wasn't coughing -- yet -- but I was wide awake. I tried to will myself to sleep, I closed my eyes, refused to pick up my ipad where my book was tucked away waiting for me to open it back up. I had to pee, but didn't want to risk coughing so laid there with my bladder feeling as full as it did years ago with a nine pound baby laying on it. My side was numb, but moving would mean waking the giant in my lungs so again, I obediently stayed as still as I could, taking shallow breaths as not to disrupt the coughing monster lurking in my chest. The whole scene felt vagu