It’s my son’s 16th birthday. I should
feel joy when I see what a wonderful young man he has become.
In many ways, I do feel joy; however, today is also filled with
worry and even a bit of despair as I sit with him at the Department
of Motor Vehicles waiting for his driver’s test. For me,
getting his license is the first actual, tangible evidence that
he is transitioning away from home . . . away from me.
I encountered many of these same emotions two
years ago when my daughter started driving. With my son though,
the feelings are amplified. Rationally, I know that my fears
are compounded due to the fact that he has severe Hemophilia
B.
With his license, I lose knowing where he is,
what he is doing, and whom he might be with. Is he being careful?
Will he let me know if he’s been hurt? Will he succumb
to peer pressure? With his license, he enters a world where
I lose the privilege of having some “control.”
Realistically, I know he will make mistakes.
I know he will take unnecessary chances. People learn this way
- by trial and error. I don’t want
him to live in fear of his own shadow. However, I do want him
to understand the additional consequences of certain behaviors
as they may affect a person with a bleeding disorder. All I
can do now is hope he listened while I lectured.
I miss the little boy that was full of questions
yet knew all the answers: When he was just about four-years-old,
he asked what “world hunger” meant. I gave an appropriately
simple answer to which he had an equally appropriate simple
solution: “Just feed everybody pizza.” That was
the same year he thought he would try using hemophilia to his
advantage. One morning, he insisted on a Hostess Ho-Ho and a
Coke for breakfast. After fifteen minutes of trying unsuccessfully
to convince me he asked, “Mom, did you forget I’m
special?”
Today we sit, and again, he is doing his best
to convince me that he is special; that he is responsible, cautious,
knows right from wrong, and can handle his medical condition.
In my head, I know he is ready to grow up. In my heart, I really
have not been looking forward to this day. With a bitter sweetness,
I remember catching my breath when he was first learning to
walk . . .
I guess some feelings never go away.
