Dropped off and through the door there is that first look. His eyes are expectant and smiling. And I dance around the kitchen island, scream joy, make my way to him. This is the OK time to overflow with love. To hug a 20 year old boy - man - longer than usual. I hang on a little past the point when his arms go slack - and then - when he realizes I am not moving anywhere - he tightens back into the hug. He gives me a little pat on the back.
“Ok Mom.”
It is OK. And it’s not OK. I can never get used to being a Mom with kids in their 20s.
His favorite roast is made, the cookies frosted, and he wolfs it down because he is going out with friends. Which is… reluctantly… OK.
Later, he comes back to watch the third period of the Hawks game with me. We sit on the couch together, but the travel day gets the best of him. His eyes close and he sleeps through buzzers and announcers and stupid local commercials for Chevy’s and banks.
I turn the volume down and watch his face.
A face asleep looks the same no matter how old we get. And he could be a little kid again, stomach full from macaroni and cheese - passed out from a play date spent outside climbing ravines and building snow forts.
Years ago, I was on a couch by a waning fire in a hotel. A day spent hiking by a frozen Minnesota lake. My Mom cozied up on the couch next to me. I dozed on and off. Spent! After a day of travel to this quaint inn up North. We had a Mother/Daughter week-end and I was 20.
Whenever I got back home to Minnesota; she always did a little jig when she saw me. Dove into me with her hug. I loved every second of greeting her. Purely good. There was nothing wrong or bad with me: her eyes and smile said. And that’s what she made me believe. But then, there was stuff to do - friends to see.
I opened my eyes on that couch later, and Mom's eyes were on me. She whispered “you are so beautiful” with a smile, and reached to give me a squeeze.
Maybe I was tired. Maybe I had come off the plane that day knowing damn well that I had just done something not so beautiful. Maybe, I was just simply; 20.
“OK Mom.” I said. “Stop.” I patted her hand.
I want my Mom back right now, as I watch my son sleep. How many times do we think in our minds “ok, now I get it!!” when it is too late to acknowledge?
My son shifts and opens his eyes, looks around forgetting where he is at first. He checks the game score and looks at me.
I bite my tongue and then just give in and whisper “You are so beautiful.”
