I think I am slowly regaining consciousness, just as I plunge into helplessness and despair.
My baby. My chub-bub. The light in my life.
Well, yes, I have two lights - my oldest turned 21 a few days ago!
Where has time flown?
Just yesterday they were kittens with little paws, eager, innocent, chubby cheeked with smells like stickiness, sweet corn, and legos lingering in the toy box.
Every day I try not to cry. You see, I cried for months leading up to May. I cried a lot. I cried when the door closed, I cried when the milk spilled. I cried until the well was dry. I cried DAYS before May even slapped me with cold, cupped hands!
Then the tears went away, overtaken by exhaustion, exhilaration, nervousness and mounds of paperwork for college.
While I have been through this before, it is more tragic when it is the baby.
It is final. My soul is aching for more than just the empty arms I will have. Soon I will be the mother that begs for phone calls, to see my grandkids or to 'come and see me sometimes'
Soon I will be wondering what to do with myself, who am I and what happened to those little, bright, four brown eyes who would say, "Mom is that our moon"? My two little baby boys have grown and have taken flight! I stand proud of their accomplishments. I am strong because I had them to protect!
Will I still be strong once they have accomplished their professional goals?
Will I still have self-worth?
Will I be able to find my way out of 'Mom of kids' to 'Mom of men'?