When my children were toddlers I taught them not to run out in the street without looking both ways first. It worked fairly well, although we did have a few scary times. Now they are, for all practical purposes, adults, and I can’t stop them from crossing the street whenever they decide they are ready. I can stand on the curb with them and I can see the two-ton truck coming, but I can’t hold their hand anymore. Still, sometimes, oh, how I wish I could. I’ve crossed that same street myself, many times, and without looking either. I didn’t have a mom to hold my hand, and even if I had, I suppose I would have told her (in a very annoyed voice) that I was a big girl and I would cross the street when and where I wanted to.
It was no longer her job.
Now, all these long years later, having been slammed into more than once by the two-ton truck, flung to the side, cut and bleeding, broken of heart if not of body, how I long to reach out one more time to my precious children, to warn them of the dangers I know are barreling around the corner. I can’t. At least not out loud. But in my heart and mind I hold out my hand and call to them, “Wait, wait, my darling. Look both ways, remember? Be careful! Do you see anything coming?”
Then I shut my eyes tight and pray they remember. And if they don’t, I’m still here to kiss away the hurt. But only if they ask. That’s part of being a mother too.
