Love and Anxiety

I think, therefore I am. I am a mother, therefore I worry. I worry about my children.

There are other worldly concerns in which I can sink my empathic teeth. World peace, hunger, poverty, corrupt governments, health care; I care about all of these important issues. But only after I’m sure the kids are okay.

When our first-born cried as an infant for two straight hours, we searched through the new parents bible of human development, “Your Baby and Child,” by Penelope Leach. We were desperate to find a remedy that would calm her.

There were countless ear infections and weeks on antibiotics after trying homeopathy that, though it would not destroy the immune system, did not work against recurrence. What would those drugs do to such little bitty valves and organs?

Each new age has brought with it an adventure of new concerns. In our urban area of competitive education, vying for a spot in pre-school was only a precursor to the race for entry into primary schools, then high school, then colleges!

Once they started going out at night, the worries that the risk-taking, under-developed frontal lobes would offer, were creative and as frightening as an image of Freddie Kruger.

Just out of the house, each child has a set of toes touching their bedroom floors at all times. The belongings they’ve left behind are kept in an orderly array like a museum display of their adolescence. At times I find myself sitting on one of their beds, caressing the duvet and holding onto the memory of rubbing small little backs as they fell into their protected slumber.

Now, asleep in their dorm rooms and scantily furnished cramped apartments, who will check on them to make sure the covers have stayed put and tuck the silken edges back under their chins? Who will see that they have at least a bite of toast and some juice for breakfast instead of starting the day on empty stomachs? Are they warm enough, do they feel safe and secure, do they know they are loved?

The questions parents ask kids continue to annoy them and the responses parents receive are often unsatisfying.

“Yes, I’m warm enough. I don’t know what I’ll do for dinner, I’m not hungry. Out, I’m going out. I’m at my friends, you don’t know them.”

That eternal rubber banding of emotions that newly found independence brings is confusing and often exhausting to both parents and to their offspring.

They don’t know yet, that all of this worry, all of this concern is because we love them. They have an idea, but it hasn’t really been felt in their bones. We adore them and don’t want harm to ever come close to them. We want to protect them forever and ever. But we can’t. Off they go to parties, and schools away from home and on to starting their own lives and creating their own homes. We close our eyes and cross our fingers and let go. We go near and step back again. And one day, many of them will come home with a precious bundle in their arms, and the cycle of love and worry, will begin again, as it has for generations.