It's been a long time since I've written, but I thought it fitting to write today, on the eve of Jared's 26th birthday. You see, I was 26 when I had Jared; there's some significance to that, and I'm trying to get my head around it. "Growing up with Jared": I was so young, so scared, so naive. Words like "mongoloid" and "mental retardation" startled and disturbed me; they still do, but thankfully, I don't see or hear them as much. Either people are trying to be equitable, or, the thing I'd rather believe is that our children are starting to prove, by what they can do, that those stunted words are losing traction in society.
I look at my son, this young man, who, in order to begin to grow up, needed to move away. And I needed to let him. It's still scary, the unknown, the tenuous feeling of releasing control, but it is necessary; because, when he comes home, I start to mother him, and he starts to let me, a little too much. I'm waiting for that day, when he comes home and I treat him as the adult he should be, bu I question how that will happen. That too will involve a sort of letting go, of being ok with the choices and decisions he makes. I don't agree with all of them, but he's starting to make some good ones. I still try to influence him, too much, I think. I don't want to do that anymore and wonder what it will be like when I "grow up" and stop hinting and cajoling. It's exhausting.
So, here's my task for the next 26 years: I need to be there for my beautiful son, my achingly beautiful son, who wears a slightly patched heart on his sleeve and who has so much to offer to this world as he and his accomplishments and his realness help fade the ugly words often bestowed on our most vulnerable.
Happy Birthday Jared, and in a sense, happy birthday to me too.
I look at my son, this young man, who, in order to begin to grow up, needed to move away. And I needed to let him. It's still scary, the unknown, the tenuous feeling of releasing control, but it is necessary; because, when he comes home, I start to mother him, and he starts to let me, a little too much. I'm waiting for that day, when he comes home and I treat him as the adult he should be, bu I question how that will happen. That too will involve a sort of letting go, of being ok with the choices and decisions he makes. I don't agree with all of them, but he's starting to make some good ones. I still try to influence him, too much, I think. I don't want to do that anymore and wonder what it will be like when I "grow up" and stop hinting and cajoling. It's exhausting.
So, here's my task for the next 26 years: I need to be there for my beautiful son, my achingly beautiful son, who wears a slightly patched heart on his sleeve and who has so much to offer to this world as he and his accomplishments and his realness help fade the ugly words often bestowed on our most vulnerable.
Happy Birthday Jared, and in a sense, happy birthday to me too.
