Tomorrow my first born son is ten years old. Double digits.
I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about this date as it loomed ever closer. The thought of Jack being TEN caused panic to bubble up in my chest and claw at my throat. My eyes would burn with tears and I had to hold back from clutching him tightly to me.
didn’t don’t feel ready for this.
But the time is here nonetheless.
One would think that after ten years as a parent I would feel more ready to let Jack grow up and move into the next stage of his life. But I haven’t been spending my time over the last decade preparing for this moment–not at all. After his cancer diagnosis, I focused on preserving his childhood as much as possible. And before that I spent a lot of time working to figure out how to be the mom he needed and haphazardly uncovering my own issues along the way.
I feel as if I’ve been sidetracked so many times. I’m not sure I’m much closer to knowing what I’m doing than I was on the day he was born. In fact, I feel that only now am I getting to the point where I can see the breadth of what I don’t know about raising a person to be a self-actualized adult. And I guess while focusing on all of that I simply forgot to prepare myself for the whole growing up thing.
But Jack will keep on growing even if I waste time being hung up on worries over the future.
Jack is an incredible human being. If I stop thinking about my own experience being his mother for even a second, I know that he will navigate the coming years in his own way and craft them into an adventure as he goes. That same creativity and empathy that seem to emphasize his youth right now will also help steer him on his path to becoming an amazing man.
I really just need to stand back and let it happen because, whether I’m ready or not, Jack is growing up.