Permission to speak freely?

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"Missing someone gets easier every day because even though it's one day further from the last time you saw each other, it's one day closer to the next time you will."  (Author Unknown)

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I've done so much relaying of information about Alex's letters and phone calls, but I really haven't taken the time to relay how I'm feeling about all of this.

My main emotions are basic:  I miss him and I worry about him. It's just really hard having him away from home. Alex still lives with me, and he and I are very close; even though we butt heads a lot, we love each other like crazy.  He's my heart, and I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm kinda swell.

Letting go of your child is letting go of his childhood. You carry him in your womb for 9 months (although in Alex's case, he was anxious to get out around 6-1/2 months, but that's a whole other story...), then you nourish and nurture him for his whole childhood.

You change his diapers, rock him to sleep, smell his perfect little head at least 25 times a day, marvel when he learns to crawl and then worry when he learns to walk, read his favorite story "AGAIN!," take him to the doctor umpteen times for every little ailment, teach him to count and say his alphabet, kiss his boo-boos, teach him to be respectful, send him off to school with high hopes then have to learn to deal with ADHD and all the problems that brings into your lives, deal with his temper tantrums, cry with him when someone hurts his feelings, yell at him when he needs it (and sometimes when he doesn't really but you've had a really bad day), cross your fingers and yourself when you send him off to play down the street without you for the first time, remind him to do his homework, remind him again, yell at him when he still hasn't started his homework, cry with him and feel you've crushed his heart forever when you and your husband tell him you're getting divorced, feel your heart stop when your ex-husband calls and says he's taking him to the emergency room, feel your heart stop again when you find his lung has collapsed and he's going to need surgery, joke with him in pre-OP to keep him calm then kiss him goodbye and cry your eyes out after they wheel him to the OR, wring your hands and pray while he's in surgery, almost pass out when you see him in recovery wearing an oxygen mask, take turns sleeping next to his bed for the next few nights, go through it all again two months later when they repair the other lung, then stand proud and cry your eyes out the day he graduates high school.

Then you think "Well, I've done my job," and that now you won't have to worry quite so much. He's a young man now; you expect to be able to let go.  But, as John Lennon said, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." 

My baby is now a young man, but he still needs me, and I guess he always will to some degree. Right now I can't be there to nourish, but I nurture remotely, through my almost-daily letters and cards. I encourage, I uplift, I inform, I humor... I mother.  Good to know I'm still needed.

 (Thanks to Kaitlyn Daniels, wife of Alex's platoon buddy Dave Daniels, for the quote!)