In the blink of an eye, you became a grown man.
Well, it didn’t exactly work like that. I’ve noticed changes in you, especially in the last few months. You seemed more motivated and focused, curious about the world and more driven. You’ve started taking care of your health and working hard at college and at your job.
I’ve been enormously proud of you for your whole life, but right now it’s a little bittersweet. Sure, we’ve talked plenty of times about what you wanted to be when you grew up and where you’d like to live (you used to say you wanted to be a “daddy” for your job). I just wasn’t expecting that day would come so soon.
When I think about the best times you and I have had together, nothing tops our weekend trip to Universal Studios in Orlando when you were only sixteen. Your stepfather, Matt, was going to come along, but then he had to cancel for something work-related, and so it was just you and me.
When we got there, the hotel room that Matt had booked for all of us was huge. We each had our own bedroom and bathroom, and there was a giant glass dining room table where we mostly ate quick fast food during our stay.
Being silly, we took pictures in every room so we could send jokes to Matt about what he missed out on. I also still have the video of you trying the macaroni salad I’d brought from Publix. You acted like it was the worst thing you’d ever tasted, and I agreed more than wholeheartedly. I immediately chucked the rest in the trash, not before I took a picture, though.
Do you remember Bubba Gump restaurant, the one with all the Forrest Gump decorations and merchandise everywhere? You hid the fact that you didn’t like seafood because you knew how much I loved it. Luckily, you were able to find something on the menu that didn’t seem fishy, so you were happy and content.
There was a tall guy in a giant pink shrimp mascot-type costume running around the restaurant, and I followed him everywhere trying to get a picture with him. He completely ignored me the whole time, thereby earning the nickname of “Stupid Shrimp” from both of us.
During our dinner, I said I was going to the ladies’ room, but I actually snuck back to the staff area. I told them it was your special sweet 16th birthday, so I wanted the whole nine yards for you: singing, balloons, clapping and a cake with a candle.
The joke was that it wasn’t your birthday at all.
When the whole staff showed up at his table and started to sing, your eyes got big and wide, and your face flushed with embarrassment. I saw it in your sly expression when you looked at me, though. You deep down thought it was hilarious and wished you had thought of it first.
The best part of that trip was getting to see you happy and relaxed. Same as with me, relaxing is not always easy to do. If only we could have stopped time and stayed that happy for eternity. That’s all I ever wanted for all of you kids.
Honey, I’m sorry things used to be so hard for us. I’m sorry for not being in your life on a daily basis. I wanted so much to read you bedtime stories every night and come to every school play you acted in. I wish there had been more time for you to tell me everything you knew about Pokemon. You deserved every one of those things and more.
To quote the great Forrest Gump, “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.” I wanted to be your mother since I was a little girl playing with baby dolls. It was my purpose to be a mommy, and I loved it more than anything in the world, but my worsening mental illness didn’t allow me the dignity to even take care of myself.
I’m trying to heal from the pain, though, and your generous gift of forgiveness makes my heart feel warm again. I can’t wait to see where we go from here (maybe someday even that trip to San Francisco that we talked about).
I see that our roles are beginning to reverse as we get older. I notice that you take my arm gently when hiking now so I don’t fall. You motivate me when I get off track or forget things, and you never get frustrated with me. You make me feel like the nicest, prettiest and best mother in the world, even if I can’t quite believe it yet.
Now it’s your turn to leave the nest and spread your wings. You already have your new apartment in Orlando (home of the Stupid Shrimp), and I know you’re planning every detail to make the move easy next month. There’s really not much I can say about relocating because I’ve done it way too much myself, except for suggesting that you add some personal things that will make you happy every time you look at them.
I think you are incredibly brave and ambitious, and I have no doubt that you will be a superstar wherever you go. I’m not just saying that because I’m your mom. You are truly the smartest, most empathetic, funniest, kindest young man who is going to light up the world everywhere you go.
I hope you know I’m here for you no matter what happens in your life. You can call me in the middle of the night or any time at all. I want to hear what’s troubling you, and I promise I won’t try to make it all about myself. I know I tend to worry too much, but these days I can be strong for you instead. I don’t want you to have to navigate the world alone but, at the same time, I know there are boundaries. Not too bad for an old Mom.
I’ve always thought that you and I were something like kindred souls. From those very first late nights after your birth, when we would sit together in our cushy rocking chair to look at the moon to the quirky sense of humor we have shared since you could speak, there is no doubt that you are my son based on personality alone.
I can’t wait to see what you will do with this brand new life before you. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed at whatever you want to do (hopefully, that also means writing — oops, I didn’t say that). Please remember to let people cut into traffic sometimes, to help somebody who is a little short of money at the cash register and to look at people in the eyes and smile when talking to them. It will make the day better for yourself, too.
I love you, son, more than you will ever know. My final piece of advice is that I’m still going to call you “baby” even when you’re 50 years old, so just relax, sigh loudly and get used to it.
I love you with all my heart. You are going to add so much beauty and meaning to the world. We are all lucky to have you in it.
PS: After I caught him. Don’t mess with Mom.