Header art by T. Guzzio. Original image via fitbit.com.
I had just pulled out of my parking spot on the Guilford green when I realized my wrist was bare. I panicked. The teal blue tracker was gone. A sense of profound loss began to cover me like a veil. The tracker was the last gift I had received from my son, and now like him, it was lost.
I pulled back into my parking spot and combed the car, the floor, under the seats, and the dreaded space between the seat and the console. Things have been known to go missing for years in that space. The “crack” as my husband called it.
Shaken, I retraced my steps. I went over and over everything I had done that morning. My search returned nothing but that veil of dread. I had lost something that had accompanied my days for a long, long time.
As I got back into my car I thought, "perhaps I am overreacting a bit. It's just a fitness tracker. It can be replaced." But no. It was the gift from a son that could not be replaced, who had given it to me a few months before, and now both were lost to me.
A few months ago my son chose a new path that took him far away from me. It was the “crack” in the easy cadence between us. This dreaded space between mother and son comes when a boy grows up, and a girlfriend replaces and challenges his family.
I was the very first woman he loved and trusted. I remember when I held my hands out to him, and he took his first steps to grab them. His smile told me I was the center of his universe. I remember the Herculean strength as I carried him in my arms in the middle of the night to the hospital when his fever spiked to 104.
Another time as his teenage face was paralyzed with Bells Palsy, I missed the tell-tale red circles of Lyme disease because they appeared on his upper inner thigh. That area of anatomy is off limits to all moms when a boy is sixteen. He asked me for movies and donuts on the way home from the doctor's office that day. I complied. I was always ready to comply, for he asked for so little. “That is all I need mom, to get some donuts, go home, put on my Birkenstocks, and watch a movie with you." Little comforts is what he asked for, and an occasional omelette. I was always ready for both.
I remember when he fell 30 feet while rock climbing and I fought with the intern in the ER. After a few hours my son's blood pressure started to drop, and the alarmed intern wanted to do a battery of tests. I said, "He hasn’t eaten in almost 24 hours, and he had a vigorous workout before he fell. Give him some food and water first. I know my son is hungry.”
"Ma’am, we can’t do that."
"I know my son!" I stared him down and said, "I worked in hospitals for twenty years and the first thing you ask when someone comes into the ER with low blood pressure is,'have you eaten anything today?'" The intern grudgingly acquiesced, got him some food, and his blood pressure slowly returned to normal.
My son was embarrassed by my confronting the doctor, but deep down he knew I was there to protect him. Mothers can get a little crazy when it comes to their children. Maybe even a little too protective sometimes. Someday, If he has his own children, he will understand this better.
I went home and grieved my lost tracker. I also grieved losing my son to a normal progression of life, becoming an adult in love. I realized he was no longer a little boy who I needed to protect. "How did this all happen so fast?" I thought. I never really tracked how fast the time went by. Suddenly, after thousands of steps as a mother, he was thirty-four. When you're that age, realistically you think more about when you are going to have sex, than what time your next meal will be. All he needs from me now is maybe an omelette, and perhaps some past memories of my fitness as a mother.
I ordered another teal blue tracker. As I waited for the replacement, I also waited in anticipation for the new relationship I would have with my son. I also had eggs on hand just in case he might need a meal.
I pulled back into my parking spot and combed the car, the floor, under the seats, and the dreaded space between the seat and the console. Things have been known to go missing for years in that space. The “crack” as my husband called it.
Shaken, I retraced my steps. I went over and over everything I had done that morning. My search returned nothing but that veil of dread. I had lost something that had accompanied my days for a long, long time.
As I got back into my car I thought, "perhaps I am overreacting a bit. It's just a fitness tracker. It can be replaced." But no. It was the gift from a son that could not be replaced, who had given it to me a few months before, and now both were lost to me.
A few months ago my son chose a new path that took him far away from me. It was the “crack” in the easy cadence between us. This dreaded space between mother and son comes when a boy grows up, and a girlfriend replaces and challenges his family.
I was the very first woman he loved and trusted. I remember when I held my hands out to him, and he took his first steps to grab them. His smile told me I was the center of his universe. I remember the Herculean strength as I carried him in my arms in the middle of the night to the hospital when his fever spiked to 104.
Another time as his teenage face was paralyzed with Bells Palsy, I missed the tell-tale red circles of Lyme disease because they appeared on his upper inner thigh. That area of anatomy is off limits to all moms when a boy is sixteen. He asked me for movies and donuts on the way home from the doctor's office that day. I complied. I was always ready to comply, for he asked for so little. “That is all I need mom, to get some donuts, go home, put on my Birkenstocks, and watch a movie with you." Little comforts is what he asked for, and an occasional omelette. I was always ready for both.
I remember when he fell 30 feet while rock climbing and I fought with the intern in the ER. After a few hours my son's blood pressure started to drop, and the alarmed intern wanted to do a battery of tests. I said, "He hasn’t eaten in almost 24 hours, and he had a vigorous workout before he fell. Give him some food and water first. I know my son is hungry.”
"Ma’am, we can’t do that."
"I know my son!" I stared him down and said, "I worked in hospitals for twenty years and the first thing you ask when someone comes into the ER with low blood pressure is,'have you eaten anything today?'" The intern grudgingly acquiesced, got him some food, and his blood pressure slowly returned to normal.
My son was embarrassed by my confronting the doctor, but deep down he knew I was there to protect him. Mothers can get a little crazy when it comes to their children. Maybe even a little too protective sometimes. Someday, If he has his own children, he will understand this better.
I went home and grieved my lost tracker. I also grieved losing my son to a normal progression of life, becoming an adult in love. I realized he was no longer a little boy who I needed to protect. "How did this all happen so fast?" I thought. I never really tracked how fast the time went by. Suddenly, after thousands of steps as a mother, he was thirty-four. When you're that age, realistically you think more about when you are going to have sex, than what time your next meal will be. All he needs from me now is maybe an omelette, and perhaps some past memories of my fitness as a mother.
I ordered another teal blue tracker. As I waited for the replacement, I also waited in anticipation for the new relationship I would have with my son. I also had eggs on hand just in case he might need a meal.
CONNECT WITH CATHY:
Cathy Weiss lives in Connecticut. Having a life rich with experiences she has written a memoir, Armored Oxfords, now in the editing phase. She could not have accomplished this without a supportive artistic community to draw from. While Cathy's main focus now is writing, she has had many art shows and community dance events benefiting local non-profits, and background includes administration in both Health and Social Service. Cathy has recently proven her ability in helping to develop community through her many artistic endeavors, and in the spirit of giving back to community minded writers, artists, and activists, she developed a website that serves as a resource for like-minded artists. Cathy is available for public speaking, consulting on events, and to offer support for creative community projects. You can reach her via email at cathy_weiss@mac.com.
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