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Today I visit my son in the last place… or one of the last places that any mother would want to visit their child, no matter how old they are.  I’m going alone and I’m scared.  I’m scared that he will hate me, that it will irrevocably destroy our relationship.  I love him so much, and he really doesn’t know that.

We tell them, our children, that we are doing what’s best for them.  I thought that the days of me deciding what is best were long gone.  At 20 years old, I was a mother, and a wife, a college student and a worker.  My mother hadn’t made a decision for me in 5 years or more, and so I assumed that that meant that my job as mother/decision maker/doing what’s best-er/disciplinarian would end at 18 at the latest.  We lie.  To all you kids out there, we are always going to be your mothers, or your fathers, no matter how old you get, no matter the harebrained, crazy ass decisions you make, they WILL affect us, so yes of course we will have something to say, we are your parents… that’s our job… but I digress.

As each minute on the clock ticks by I am a little more afraid.  as the clock rounds to the next hour and the next I want to take out the batteries, unwind the time and stop everything… and turn it around… turn it to the first time he broke my trust… or the second… maybe I just need to find the one breaking of trust that led me to today, to the decisions I must make now.

I have a confession… I don’t want to go…