29 years ago, I received some unexpected news. Later that same year, I was successfully presented with the result of that news, and have been trying ever since to work out what being a parent is all about.
Based on the outcome, over the years, of that one and only excursion into parenthood, I – we, there are two parents after all – didn’t do too bad a job. He is awesome. Kind, generous, caring, empathetic and just. Not perfect by any means, thankfully. But definitely one of the good ones.
And, during the course of those almost 29 years, I have tried to be the right sort of parent at the right time.
Because the minutiae of requirements, needs, answers change. As circumstances, age, life’s many complexities change.
The main point of it all, so far, appears to be that, whatever the current circumstance, the love is always there. And the door is always open.
Each day, the constant wondering of how life is going for my child remains. The worry, the desire to relieve any pain, simplify complexity, resolve situations, make them happy; that never goes.
But there is also the faith that they too have learned, and understood, and appreciate the development and growth. And, coming from a good place, the choices will be the right ones. For them. For their impact on the world.
And as time progresses, and responsibilities shift, I watch more, and say less, about what should be done.Because I believe they know what the answer is, or are capable of working it out.
But that stepping back is hard, because the instinct to protect, to save, to steer, remains strong.
And sometimes, not knowing whether it needs to be done, I step forward, reduce the gap, and redraw a road map or two, just in case.
And I know its not needed, because my child is aware, and understands.
But I also hope they understand that I only step forward because they are loved, unconditionally. And whatever the action, whatever the choice, that remains indestructible.
I have seen, lately, the glorious outcome of a door always open, and a love always there.
And I know that I will always be there, balancing the urge to step forward, and the endless pride of not needing to. And every day, adjusting the degree, the angle, the approach.
And not always getting it right.
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