Letting Go

My son is growing up.  My mother is dying.  I am not as young as I think I am. Letting go is really hard.

There are some things that I can shrug my shoulders at, and ultimately know that I have no control over, like getting older.  I still giggle when I think about my age.  It doesn't seem right.  I still feel young, but when I see someone the age I think I am, I have to stop and do the head shaking thing and deal with/ignore it.

The other two subjects are harder to think about. To deal with.  To comprehend. 

My baby is 17.  He has a girlfriend, a driver's license and a bright and beautiful mind of his own.  Long gone are the days when I could grab his arm, pull him close and plant a kiss on his cheek.  Long gone are the days when he needed me to do something for him that involved me being his mommy.  I know that you have to let go.  I know I don't have to quite yet, but the day is coming.  Letting go is really hard.

My mom was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer a year ago.  At that time, she was given 3 years or so.  She is undergoing treatment, not aggressive treatment, but what is being done has made a difference.  When I am brave enough to ask my dad what the doctors have said about longevity, he shrugs and says it doesn't work that way.  The doctors ask her how she is feeling, and they go with that.  She feels good.  Go with that.  Letting go is really hard.

I know that the days are coming.  Letting go is going to be really hard.