Adult Conversation

Each of these posts is intended to serve to functions:  1)  to share with my fellow humans bits and pieces of my experience and 2) to spur discussion, debate, thoughts--whatever.

I'm going to be crafting this post carefully, since it involves my son, a fiercely private person when he is not pursuing his craft (entertainment-related).

When I'd been in Colorado about five months, Son called me, asking if I "really liked" my new state and hometown.  I answered swiftly and decidedly--yes, this is where I am, and where I will live out my days.  He then stated what I had already known for a long time:  he and Wife were "so done" with California--the cost of living, the pace, the climate, etc., etc., pretty much mirroring my own set of grievances  Son was only asking me because they were considering Colorado for the next phase of their lives.

In the days/weeks/months that followed, I was thrilled to lay eyes on Son again, giving him a thorough orientation to my hometown, my apartment complex, all that is My World.  This was a delicate balancing act--my being helpful while not being an Overbearing Mother.  We each have strong personalities, and so I kept my Consultant hat on, and my mouth shut as much as possible.

DMV stuff, setting up a mailbox, getting belongings unloaded--all pretty much tasks Son did, and I just butted out.  Things sometimes got testy when I again donned the Mom hat, and insisted that he needed to find a proper Colorado winter coat, gloves--and that a wear of sturdy Western boots would fare better than his shiny dress shoes--because I said so.  Never mind that there's no snow right now--Colorado weather has a mischievous habit of without-warning change.  And I got to say I told you so when it did snow several days later.  And it's a good thing that coat came with a hood.  So there!

Actually, because we have so few family members left anywhere, this relocation has drawn Son and I closer--I think.  We sometimes go for a day or two, or more, without seeing each other, but we've come to a mutual agreement that texting is a means of contact, without hesitation.  With our respective schedules, calls can be too intrusive.  To respect that boundary is important for our sanity, and the health of our mother-son relationship.  One time, after a brief (sixty-second) bickering session, Son looked down at me (he's way more than a foot taller than me) and said, "You know I love you, don't you?"  That remark stopped me cold--we are not from a demonstrative family--but it touched me deeply.  This, from a man who, as a kid and a teen, had uttered the frequent, heart-stabbing, typical, "YOU'RE THE WORST MOTHER IN THE WORLD!"

A turnabout from all the years I told Son, "Don't touch that!" in regard to stuff in my home office -- I've seen Son's professional set-up.  There are three large monitors, a hard-drive unit, a camera, a professional-grade microphone and an enormous keyboard that blinks four different colors. And other gadgets that I haven't a clue what they're for.  Intimidating.  Kinda like Mission Control.  What went through my head was MC Hammer's "Can't Touch This."  Don't worry, I  won't.

Maybe we've both grown up.  Son drove, without any complaint, through blizzard conditions so we could celebrate Thanksgiving over a nice restaurant meal.  About two months later, he responded to my frantic distress call, came in, scooped me up, and transported me to the E.R. at 2 A.M., when my rheumatoid arthritis "locked up" my entire left leg. (Don't ask why the EMTs didn't transport me.)  Son is my go-to escort when I go to Costco and need muscle for those heavy/bulky goods, or assist for reaching items way.out.of.my.4-ft-11 reach. He voices concern when he thinks I'm working too much--or too late.  He's got my back--and I'm becoming okay with that.

Yes, Son, I do know you love me.